Professor Layton and the Book of Memory
by Master of Shiawase Punch
Summary: A blank piece of paper in a strangely addressed envelope. Harmless, until it forces the Professor to recall a portion (& a person) of his past that he tried incessantly to forget. Tea time is forced to wait as Layton & crew investigate a suspicious tycoon with a shadowed agenda. Part I of a trilogy. Canon, apart from a few original characters. R&R intelligently. No idle words.
1. CHAPTER 1: CATALYST

**Professor Layton and the Book of Memory**

**Ah, hello, children. I've been chastised for long disclaimers, intros, warnings, etc. so I'll save the typing on both of our parts and just offer a brief word of introduction to what you will and will NOT be getting yourself into.**

**This story is part ONE of a trilogy. Needless to say, I'm taking this story seriously, as if it were a playable game. I'd even like to draw comics or prepare a visual novel relating to it, if I have the time. It fits into the canon story as best as it can, however, I can not guarantee the use of every character in the Prof. Layton games. Also, I may need to go back and rewrite after I play Mask of Miracle and Azran Legacies, as there may be discrepancies. Bear with me!**

**Please understand that while the Professor Layton franchise is based in England and this story would do well to be written by a British person, I am _not_ English; I am American. I do know of some British cultural references, but I will most likely fail to remove _all_ of my American influences. If you find any glaring mistakes or places where I could use a British phrase/word, please kindly let me know in a PM.**

**Do NOT write me reviews with nothing to offer. That is, if you are just going to go on and on only to hear yourself "talk," go find a sycophant and pummel them with your drivel. I accept CONSTRUCTIVE criticism (and compliments) only. Idle words with no base will be given a very pointed and pithy comeback meant to draw mental blood.**

**And…I suppose that is all! I won't spoil too much of the story, but….the majority of this focuses on Layton. Sorry if you hate him.**

**Putting flaxseed in your meals,**

**Kelsey**

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**CHAPTER 1: CATALYST**

"There's…no return address."

Professor Layton scanned the front and back of a large, cream-colored envelope, carefully making sure there wasn't any other writing he could have missed. But sure enough, it only bore his name, scribbled hurriedly on the front in black ink: **Hershel Layton**.

"Seems peculiar if you ask me!" Luke, the professor's apprentice, chimed in. He was tip-toeing to get a better look. "Lemme see!"

"Luke, it's addressed to me. Thank you for bringing me the mail." He turned to his desk. "This was all that was in the post box?"

"And your anthropologist journal…but—!"

"Luke, it's rude to pry at others' mail. A gentleman keeps to his own." Shielding the letter, the Professor sat down in his wooden desk chair.

He did share the boy's thoughts however: where was the return address? More importantly, where was _his_? The envelope obviously had never been through the post system, and was merely placed into his mail box by another's hand, not the postman's. The script was loose and casual, as if written down last minute, right before being left in the box.

'_Curious…_' He grabbed his letter opener and slid it slowly along the envelope's seal, careful not to ruin the contents inside. The flap lifted, prompting the Professor to peer inside. '_Seems to be innocent enough_…'

He removed a piece of paper about the size of the envelope and at the top was a thin strip of scrap attached by paperclip. The scrap held instructions, but the larger paper…

"It's—"

"—blank?" Luke finished, confused.

"_Luke…_!" Slightly startled, the Professor turned and chided the boy with a half-hearted glare; he was more interested at the object at hand to care much about correcting the boy in his charge. After the boy retreated a few steps, Layton returned to the attached instructions, printed in the same way as the front of the envelope. It read: **Write your name at the top of the included paper**.

And he read it several times, hoping the words would make sense, but was only left feeling like he was reading another language and the words just wouldn't make sense. Flipping the paper over, hoping to find a clue to what the message was about, he was left with nothing but his own staring expression, as blank as the pearl white paper he was holding. And now that he thought about it, the paper _was_ unusually bright. "What in the world…?"

"What's it about, Professor?" Luke asked impatiently, still refusing to be shook off. "_Write your name_…?"

"I'll look into it later. For now, let's get something for lunch." He smiled, returning the contents to the envelope and leaving it on the desk. Then he ushered the boy outside, hoping to direct his attention elsewhere. He grabbed his signature top hat and followed Luke out the door.

"Do you think it's safe?" the boy questioned. "The paper, I mean."

"I don't see why not, it seems innocent enough. But it's also so strange, and we both know that underestimating and assuming things would not be very…conducive, after all the adventures we've been on. But anyway, it's so strange, _too_ strange, to take lightly. I need to think about this."

"There's not much to think about! It says write your name, it's that simple. It's probably just some chap trying to silently—and slyly, mind you—promote his fancy parchment!" The boy laughed loudly, punching the air. "That has to be it!"

The Professor laughed. "Children think the world is so simple. If only everyone thought the same, it really _would_ be. But, I'm biding my time, Luke. Let's focus on lunch for now."

Luke talked through mouthfuls of sandwich, the Professor thinking about the paper while sipping tea. He nodded occasionally, falsely verifying his attention; he hoped he wasn't agreeing to something that he shouldn't be. But he couldn't focus; the paper was too strange, and it instantly presented itself as a puzzle to be solved. Sometimes, he admitted internally, his curious nature was burdensome and annoying…

With lunch paid for, the Professor and Luke made their way back home, waiting for the feeling of rain drops falling from the grim sky.

"Guess I should have brought an umbrella," Luke said, eyeing the clouds warily.

"We'll make it before the storm, don't worry," the Professor responded, actually unsure with his assessment. The wind picked up a bit, whistling under the brim of his hat.

A few minutes later, the door leading to their flat came into view. Luke raced to open it, just in time for the first sprinkles to hit the pavement, causing the Professor to make a not-oft made run for shelter. Luke laughed as they climbed the staircase and entered the flat.

"You won't think it's so funny when your hat gets soaked and shrinks!" he called to the boy, who ran off to his room. He shook his head, smiling. "Youth…"

His head turned instantly to the desk and the envelope. He had forgotten about it for a brief moment, lost in other thoughts about raindrops and whether he'd just pulled a muscle. It once again consumed his mind, an infinite number of possibilities with an equally infinite amount of conclusions crowding in his head. Now, the blank parchment seemed foreboding. Was it brought on by the darkness of the room, assisted by the storm now pelting the windows with rain? No, the paper itself seemed to secrete an aura, releasing dark secrets, swallowed by the shadows.

Settled at the desk, Professor Layton turned on the lamp, and once again took the paper into his hands.

"_Write your name_… _Write your name_…" He continued repeating the words, looking over the paper for the third or fourth time. He held the paper up to the light, hoping to see some secret writing. Nothing. What was the point of a blank paper?

Without warning or a second thought, he took his ink pen in hand, and, neatly, wrote his name in his flowing scrawl. "Herrrshel Laaayton," he whispered softly, reciting his name slowly as he wrote. He smiled, and…waited. The ink glistened in the lamp's light. Had he expected a fanfare, or some earth-shattering event? He stared at his name, dumbfounded. "Well, that was a bit of a let—"

He gasped as his name disappeared, not in an instant as a light shuts off, but as a sponge soaks up water, slowly, as if the paper had swallowed his signature, absorbed it into its fibers. A chill went down his spine after accepting what had just happened. The paper was once again blank.

"Just what _is_ this pa…per…?"

It was as if an invisible pen was spilling its ink across the paper, a ghost writing over his shoulder, hurriedly spelling out a list. A heading replaced where his name had just been—_Memoriae_.

And then more writing. Dates, written in month-day format, lined the left hand side. To the right in separate columns, sentence fragments formed, each listed right underneath the one previously written. What exactly was being listed was not clear, but the Professor read each entry apprehensively.

"'_September 2nd: First class held, Puzzle given, Names exchanged. September 15th: Accidental meeting in library, Office, Tea Recipe'?_ What is this?" His brow furrowed as the fragments filled the page and continued to the backside. He scanned through the rest of the entries. It was as if reading someone's poorly arranged diary. None of the fragments connected; as a whole, none of it made sense. The backside was filled, and the writing stopped at 'September 28th: Tea party invitation, First test, Chat after class.'

'_What a strange place to stop_,' he thought, when he wondered…

He quickly flipped the sheet to the front side again, confirming his thought. The writing hadn't stopped; it merely resumed where it had first started, the first entries disappearing as his signature did, and new lines taking their place, continuing with 'October 4th: Tea party, Conversation during snacks, Friendship began'. It was as if the paper's musings were eternal, and never could be satisfied. He lazily read through dozens of entries with waning interest when all of a sudden he felt his heart freeze and his stomach hollow.

"What sort of joke is this?" he spat bitterly, demeanor changing. He wasted no time in shoving the paper back into the envelope roughly. Instantly, he felt the air around him become cold, wrapping around his now clammy skin. When had he broke out in a sweat? His breathing had become rapid and sharp. Suddenly, the shuffling of shoes behind his chair made him jump. "What in blazes—"

"What…is that…?" Luke asked hesitantly, a trace of fear in his voice.

"It was nothing, Luke, what did I tell you about—"

"It was just…writing by itself! It's some sort of enchanted—"

"Luke! It's none of your concern, it's just—"

"And it wrote as if it was someone you knew, like an old friend. Did you know her—"

The professor rose from his seat, showing a side Luke was unfamiliar with; a mix of anger, sadness, and fear. His eyes were vacant but his frown spoke enough to relay the message.

"Luke, I want no more word about this, okay? I want you to think no more of it. Please, go back to your room."

"But—"

"_Go_."

Luke turned and ran back to his room, the door shutting with a soft click. Layton glanced at the window, an emptiness now dwelling inside him. It was an emptiness that foiled perfectly with the haunted paper whose list continued growing inside the envelope, whether he continued reading it or not.

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**END.**

**Don't forget to review!**


	2. CHAPTER 2: EN ROUTE

Yeah, I realize I'm a lame writer. And a lame puzzler. IGNORE MY LAME PUZZLE IN THIS CHAPTER.

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**CHAPTER 2: EN ROUTE**

Summer blazed on as an unusually hot September wind swept through the window, ruffling papers tacked to the bulletin board and brushing a few off of desks. Laura sat with her chin in her hands, reading "End of Summer Luncheon! Bring a treat and join your classmates in wishing the summer farewell with food and fun" on several of the papers as they fluttered, wondering whether she should bring something fruity or chocolatey. She knew what she preferred, but…

The girls in front of her giggled loudly at somebody's joke, breaking her from her food reverie. Not one to dabble in chit-chat, she struggled to find something else in the room that she could pin her eyes to without appearing ditzy and like a daydreamer. To be lost in one's own thoughts was seen as more of a weakness than a boon, and she tried her best to appear observant and concerned in her surroundings, although she could do so, as well as be wrapped in thought. Her eyes settled on the door, soon to be opened by a visiting professor from the university in the city. Nothing new happening, but that didn't seem to bother anyone except her.

_'I can't wait until graduation… Still a four years' wait…'_

Broken from a daydream for a second time, Laura straightened herself along with the rest of the girls as the door slowly opened into the room, the headmaster cascading through the doorway. He was smiling and jovial as usual, even more so with a visiting professor in his caped wake. He waved to the class, greeting them but not waiting for the reply, finally leading the new teacher to the desk.

"Good morning, girls. May I introduce to you Professor Hershel Layton from Gressenheller University. He will be teaching elective archaeology this semester, and hopefully next semester as well." Professor Layton smiled warmly, tipping his wool cap forward slightly. "Please welcome him with rapt attention and your eagerness to learn." He turned to his new staff member, mumbled some words, smiled to the class once more, and left. The door shut with a click.

Professor Layton opened his briefcase on the desk, his eyes fixed on the students. "Well, hello, ladies. Headmaster Ginlade greeted you just a few moments ago as girls, but you look like a group of intelligent young women eager to learn. It seems he's underestimated you. You'll find I will do quite the opposite." Laura heard a couple girls in the very front row stifle low giggles. She estimated that the group would be vying to become teacher's pet within a week's time.

The professor leaned against the front of his desk and placed his palms on the surface, gripping the edge. He never removed his hat, nor his smile. "So. Welcome to Modern Archaeological Scholarship class. We'll be covering topics in recent findings in archaeology quite extensively, as well as some in-depth study of the history surrounding the places of these findings." His voice was quiet and calm, English accent lacing his words delicately. He was noticeably comfortable even though it was his first day. He made little to no actions with his body, but was obviously running marathons in his mind as he prepared what to say. "Any objections?"

The class shook their heads in unison, a few muttering an audible 'No'.

"Good. Then let's start! Chapter 1 in your books looks rather dull, doesn't it? I took the liberty of reading the entire text last evening, I hope you don't mind us neglecting it for the time being…" Several girls looked to their neighbors and smiled, whispering to each other as the Professor turned and walked to the board.

"Seems as if I picked the right course then, Laura," a girl named Millie muttered. "No book, and such a gentleman! I think I'm already quite infatuated with him…"

"Oh, Millie, he has to be at _least_ close to double our age, what with his knowledge and background! And we've barely heard him speak…" Laura tried to reason. "I mean, he-"

"He's brilliant! Look at him!" Millie hissed. "Sharp and stunning, yet demure as hell. I wonder if he's seeing someone…"

"Surely married, with children somewhere. Or has his head buried in too many books most of the time to bother with such things anyway," Laura whispered matter-of-factly.

"You'd surely know of _that_ sort of thing, wouldn't you?" Millie retorted, displeased that she couldn't get her sentiments returned. "I'm sure he's…" Laura blatantly ignored her friend as the Professor began speaking on something about Egypt or Rome, or was it South America? She didn't really care. The class was an elective, and had nothing to do with what she wanted to accomplish. The reading would be done casually and the papers in a similar fashion. She checked the clock in the front of the room: 11:30. Only half an hour until lunch.

The rest of the class was engaged and interested, judging by the laughs and responses of the other girls, but Laura sat quietly, counting wall bricks or how many times the girls in the front unabashedly flirted with their new teacher. Whichever one, she lost count. No matter how hard she tried to listen, the warm wind and the buzz of the outdoors caught her interest instead; the hard desk chair and cold cinderblock walls were hardly conducive to her learning. Just as she was succumbing to dozing, Professor Layton clapped his hands together and erased everything he had previously written on the chalkboard. Apparently, Laura had been trying to keep herself awake for 20 minutes, as the clock now read 11:50.

"Time for a puzzle, ladies. I'll occasionally give you these to test your mental abilities and keep them sharp! It's important for a blossoming young woman to be able to reason and use logic. That's all these puzzles test you on, so don't panic." He laughed lightly at a few girls who had groaned. "Not puzzle fans, I take it…"

He wrote a story problem on the board, complete with a simple diagram to help visualize the concept. "Now then! Ladies, please write this down on a piece of paper, and try to solve. Don't think too hard! It's much easier than it looks."

Laura could tell even before reading through the puzzle that three-fourths of the class was struggling to come to terms with the new work in front of them. It was as if the excitement of a charming, new professor was drained from them completely, instantly. Before she even considered the puzzle she wrote it down, lest she not finish it before class, and have to take it home. Millie poked her shoulder.

"What is this? Do you have any clue about this? I hate maths problems…"

Laura studied the words and picture intently, feeling that it really _was_ easier than it looked. 'Tom starts at point A and needs to get to point B.' Okay, fair enough. 'He walks a distance x on the first day, and each subsequent day walks half of the distance covered the day prior.' What a lazy man… 'If Tom walks 5 miles the first day and point B is 100 miles from point A, how many days will it take Tom to arrive at his destination?'

She was good at mathematics in general, but wondered if this really required to be worked out heavily. Could this professor really expect everyone in the class to be at the same mathematic level? She divided 5 by 2, added the two numbers together, and continued the pattern until… She looked at Millie and how she was progressing. She was up to 10 days' time in the sequence.

"I can't do this anymore…" she moaned. "I'll be in here forever! This Tom character barely moves, the lazy sod!" The rest of the class seemed to share the same sentiment. Professor Layton was gazing at his pocket watch while Laura sat quietly, staring into space, trying to figure out the little annoyance in front of her.

"Time's up, ladies," Professor Layton said quietly, standing up from his desk chair. "Has anyone an answer?"

"He barely gets anywhere!" Clara shouted. She sat in the front row and had been swooning only minutes ago but seemed to be in distress over the riddle. "It's going to take him 10 years at least, I'm thinking!"

"Is that so?" the Professor questioned, smiling. "Anyone come up with another time estimate?" Several girls offered their number estimates before the clock read 12:00, but none impressed the Professor much. "Well, you can take the puzzle home and see if you can solve it with more time. Poor Tom takes his time, doesn't he?"

Laura packed her things slowly, waiting for the others to file into the hall. Millie looked at her curiously. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I just have a question of the professor. You can go ahead. I'll find you outside for lunch." She followed Millie to the front of the room but stopped at the desk. Professor Layton was returning papers into his briefcase which was already stuffed with books and folders with different markings on them. She cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Professor Layton. I think I may have the answer."

He looked up calmly, the same look plastered across his face. It must be hard to fake that expression and appear as a gentleman, Laura thought.

"Please share. I was hoping someone would have gotten it, but…"

"He never gets there."

"And what makes you think that, Miss… I apologize, I haven't memorized the class roster just yet but…"

"Laura. My name is Laura," she said with a quick smile. "Well, the distance just continues dividing by two. It gets smaller and smaller, but Tom will never get to zero, or, his destination. It's much like an asymptote in mathematics. He will get obscenely close, but will never quite touch."

Professor Layton threw his head back slightly and laughed, putting Laura off guard with his change in demeanor. "A most thorough explanation! Well, you are correct, Miss Laura. I do say, I wonder if you'll still be the only one to have solved this puzzle by tomorrow morning. We'll find out tomorrow, shall we?"

Laura smiled. "Yes. Thank you, Professor." She accepted another of his smiles and left the room.


	3. CH 3: THE BASKET WEAVER & THE CHARMER

**Well well well. What a hiatus! What a break! And…..what a lapse in mental sanity. Anyway, with the release of the fourth Layton game (the 1****st**** chronologically…), I've been inspired to continue my story. However, there may be some discrepancies in my writing, now that I have some more information about the professor, thanks to the 4****th**** game. Too bad I didn't translate it earlier before I started writing! Oh well. Bear with me.**

**Anyway, enjoy chapter 3. Don't be too surprised. Haha. Sorry for my terrible puzzles/"mysteries". They aren't very….good twists, are they…**

**Writing cruddy fanfics,**

**Kelsey**

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**CHAPTER 3: THE BASKET WEAVER AND THE CHARMER**

"Professor, are you sure you aren't hungry? I'm eating your eggs if you don't come out!"

Luke rapped his knuckles against the professor's bedroom door for a third time. He listened for footfalls beyond the door and heard nothing. Shaking his head, he headed back to the kitchen, plate of eggs still in hand.

Within, Layton lay under heavy covers, still in bed, staring through half-raised eyelids at dust caught in sunrays entering the bedroom window. He heard the boy, but failed to process his words. His mind was blank, empty. Had he even slept? He tried to remember. Unable to recall, he concluded he had indeed slept, but felt quite fatigued regardless. Had he dreamt everything?

He emerged from the room a half hour later, hair tussled and eyes heavy.

"Tea's cold now, lazy!" Luke yelled from the kitchen. "And I really did eat your eggs. About time you woke up! I called the university and told them you'd come down with flu!"

He ignored the boy and walked straight to the bathroom, deciding to assess the damage of his restless sleep. The mirror told no lies as bloodshot eyes stared back at him, a bored expression on his face.

"Ridiculous." He splashed his face with water, then buried it in a soft towel. He wished he had dreamt. All of it. He left the bathroom and headed straight to his study, finding the paper in the envelope just as he had tossed it on the desk the night prior. However, it was now blank. "Curious…"

"Why, it's white!" Luke started, but smiled weakly, noticing the professor's frown. "Heh heh, sorry…"

"Seems I can't restrain your curiosity any more than you can," he muttered, managing a grimace. "I can't say that I blame you. It perplexed me all of last night."

Luke nodded. "Well…what exactly do you suppose this paper is about anyway? It's like a diary, but, at the same time, not."

"It indeed seems to be that way, doesn't it? However, why my signature triggered another's broken diary is beyond my current comprehension." He stopped. "Luke, humor me for a moment."

The boy nervously took a pen from the professor. "Er…Professor?"

"The instructions asked, well, ordered me to write my name at the top. Let's see how it reacts to yours."

Luke obliged, gingerly scrawling "Luke Triton" across the top. "Well, it's certainly not my best but… My goodness! It's starting again!" The same Latin heading, the same format, the same script. However, only one entry appeared: _July 12__th__: Ice cream at Dilliam's._

"Ice cream at Dilliam's? Is that all?" asked Layton, slightly disappointed.

"Why, that was just over a month ago!" Luke yelled. "That's when I went to that fancy ice cream parlor down the avenue, and I hadn't brought enough money."

"Oh yes, I do recall that. Did anything…out of the ordinary occur?"

"Other than me feeling absolutely ridiculous because I lost my change, no."

"Surely, this entry isn't random." The professor thought for a moment. "Well, how were you able to leave without paying? Didn't you say something about the waitress telling you that your tab had somehow been cleared?"

"Oh, oh yes! I completely forgot about that! Yes, the waitress said my bill had been paid for by a regular customer. But, I never saw anyone else in there. Well, at least, not anyone that seemed to realize my trouble. And really, there's only children in there. Their parents give them money to go."

"Strange." Layton held his chin in his hand, arms half crossed. "A gourmet ice cream parlor, where the customers are primarily chidren. It seems odd that anyone there would have had more than enough money to pay for anyone other than his or herself, if parents merely give their children enough to buy a single treat. Of course, there may be outliers: some children might be…hmm…_satiated_ only after several treats, but most likely, those of that nature may not be so willing to forego their own ice cream for the sake of another's."

"You seem….to be putting a lot of thought into this, Professor…." Luke mumbled. "It's merely ice cream, it's merely an entry to the strange paper. What are you getting at?"

The Professor smiled and laughed lightly. "What I'm getting at, Luke, is our little junior postman. Whoever put this letter in my mailbox, I believe is the person that is linked to the entries listed when I write my name, to the person whom you met at Dilliam's."

"Wait, you-you think they are connected?"

"Oh, more than connected. I believe they are one and the same. We're dealing with one person: one person delivered this paper, and only one person shares these events with both of us."

"How do you know?"

"A guess."

"But, that doesn't tell us _who_ it is, or, or even where we can find them. And besides-" the boy sat heavily in his favored recliner, "-does it really matter? It's only a silly piece of paper. What harm could it-? Professor?"

Professor Layton raced to the bathroom and splashed his face with water. After attempting to smooth down his hair, he nodded curtly at his reflection and hurried to the front door, throwing on a coat. "Luke! I'm going out."

"But-huh? I'm coming too!" He jumped up and reached for his coat, but was stopped.

"I won't be out long, merely gathering a bit of information. Don't follow me."

He placed silk hat atop his head, straightened it quickly, and was out the door, leaving Luke confused and staring blankly at the empty coat hook.

"Well I'll be… He put on Rosa's gardening jacket…"

Running-no-any physical exertion was not really the professor's strong point, the feeling of the stitch in his chest making the realization all the more conclusive as he stopped at an intersection to catch his breath.

'_One more block…_'

He soon found himself in front of a building with a sign that read "Dilliam's" (The Creamtissential Taste of the 21st Century!), the bright, modern colors of the inner décor fascinating him through the mildly frosted windows. Stepping through the doors, a waft of vanilla, strawberry, and everything sweet swept past him, taking him momentarily back to childhood.

"I can see why the children love it."

Walking across the neon orange and olive green mosaic floor of the entrance, he glanced around to observe the customers. Sure enough, groups of children flocked to booths and tables, several more standing impatiently in line to secure their prize in a large room to the left; a register counter sat heavily, spanning the entire width of the space. There was a soda bar with seating, as well as dozens of tiny tables placed throughout the large room. The soft lime walls stained everything with an eerie green glow, yet it was still lovely. Most of the children looked about middle school to early high school aged, yet some were close to Luke's age.

Layton turned around to look at the other room to the right of the entrance. It was separated by a set of closed French doors, and seemed to be a more adult-centered space, with wainscoting running along the perimeter and a gaudy goldenrod-colored theme used throughout the room. The clientele appeared to be college aged, or late 20's.

Amidst the clamor of the customers, the professor noticed an outdoor terrace that the children's section extended into, allowing customers the choice to dine outside. He walked through the entrance, stepping out onto a brick patio which descended to a larger one that extended to the street curb.

"Hardly safe. Hopefully these children don't jump the short fence… London's becoming quite the lawsuit."

His eyes scanned the terrace, quickly looking at each person in the area.

'_One of these…_'

He walked up to a table near the perimeter, clearing his throat.

END.


	4. CHAPTER 4: OLD TRICK, NEW DOG

**Okay, here's chapter 4. It's a bit longer, I believe. Sorry about that. Hope it's not too boring! The professor is a talker. How annoying.**

**And with that, I'm off!**

**Irritating the masses,**

**Kelsey**

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**CHAPTER 4: OLD TRICK, NEW DOG**

"Well, apart from the puzzles, I'm sure that class will be a joy, considering that hunk of man we have as our teacher." Millie attempted a soft purr, much to the other girls' amusement.

"Millie, don't you think it's time you stop preying on older men's looks and actually _go_ for a _person_ that is more…age-appropriate?" Laura asked, chewing a corned beef sandwich. "You know what they say about women like you…" Millie frowned and dismissed the comment with a wave of her dress as she sat down in the lawn across from her classmate.

"It's more than what you can say for yourself. At least I exhibit drive! That is, one of a physical nature. Don't tell me you only fancy books? You only wish to stroke book spines?" She giggled stiffly, triggering a chorus of similar laughter from the rest of the bunch. "But Laura, I'm quite serious. You never are seen about in shops, at parties, in the town center… One might think you're only able to understand text and not human interaction."

Laura shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Okay, Millie, I think we've all taken your point and committed it to memory for the thousandth time. As much as we've heard about your infatuations with the professors here on campus."

Look of disgust, 'tsk' of distaste. That was the typical comeback from Millie. She finally gave up and bid Laura goodbye, heading towards the garden's gate with her posse. Laura pushed her crusts between her teeth and ruminated silently. Millie's words never _really_ got to her, since she knew they weren't true, but…

"It would be nice to have someone understand, at least, once in a while," Laura whispered to herself, shaking her head quickly. Why did those girls bother with her anyway? The least they could do would be to ignore her, but she supposed they only wanted to get satisfaction out of picking on her. She stood up and walked around the campus. It was her habit to wait until most of the other girls had left the premises, and then walk around inside the buildings by herself, in the quiet, listening to her footsteps echo off the tile floors. But today, she felt that homework was calling her lovingly from her house, so after treating herself to an outdoors trek, she headed home.

A dozen days into the semester, Millie was planning a start of school tea party, "…slash brunch!" she would love quipping after she mentioned "tea party", in order to sound more refined, as she would explain.

"Let's see, tea, of course, and sandwiches for sure. Perhaps cakes?"

"That's what you serve at tea parties, Millie," Laura reassured her.

"But this is _brunch_, Laura, as well. Slash brunch! So I'll need some more ideas. I'm inviting all of my professors, including Herrrrshel, ha ha!" Her gaggle of girls took the cue and mimicked her laugh. "Do you think he drinks Earl Gray, or something stronger?"

"Sweeter," Clara chimed. "He smiles so often, he's probably fighting off a sugar high every moment of class." More giggles.

"Looks like a strong tea drinker, perhaps a bit of a spicy brew, and maybe sour as well. Dash of sugar, no more, no less. But, I'm not a big tea drinker so I'm not so sure…" Laura said modestly. She chided herself inwardly for talking after receiving a glare from Clara.

"What makes you the resident expert on tea drinking?!" she snapped. "Let Millie worry about the arrangements and you just show up to make the party look like a success!'

"_Look_ like?! It _will_ be a success!" Millie retorted sharply, slightly hurt. "Don't start assuming things. I'm having the best food, you guys are coming and talking about _normal_ things"—quick glance at Laura—"and as long as Layton shows, I'm satisfied."

The girls sounded off with a flood of complaints and ideas all in one instant, leaving Laura in the midst of a pointless battle. She slid out of the argument between a Cindy and an Abigail and walked to the campus library, somewhere the others rarely went.

Professor Layton had given them a puzzle a day, ranging in difficulty from one day to the next. Surprisingly, Laura had been able to solve every one, but she was the only person who knew of this. The Professor asked for them to turn the puzzles in to him to be checked, but Laura assumed he merely chose some that were solved interestingly enough to share with the class, and discarded the rest. After all, she hadn't heard any comments made about hers, and he seemed to pick out random girls' answers and analyze them instead. That, or the professor's assistant homework grader gave them a once-over and picked the answers of her favorite friends, since the same girls' work tended to be the examples given in the class.

_'Favoritism…'_

The previous day's puzzle had been noticeably more difficult than all others, and Laura made her way to the library to see if she could find a puzzle history book. Some of the ones she had solved were ones that were famous, and were solved the world over, so perhaps this one was the same? She turned the corner of a long line of bookshelves and bumped into someone undeniably taller. She instantly felt stupid, especially since she smacked her head into the shelf's corner in addition to knocking the person's books to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have turned so sharply," she said, wincing and bending down to pick up the fallen books. She stood back up and looked at the person she had inconvenienced. She gasped softly. "Headmaster! I'm very sorry."

"It's quite alright, Laura," the Headmaster laughed, taking back his tower of books. "I'm only apt to assume you were lost in thought? Professor Layton here says you are doing rather well in his course! I can only assume, once more, if you will, that you enjoy it?"

Laura now noticed the archaeology professor standing behind the larger headmaster. "Oh, well, it's…only been about a week and half or so? You may find me slipping, I'm not so good with history, really…"

"Not merely in coursework, my dear, but his puzzles! Seems you have an uncanny knack for logic and reasoning!" Laura's brow furrowed, confused. "You know, those puzzles are handpicked and some even _crafted_ by this fine man here! He's famous, you know, not just for his brains, but for his puzzles as well," he said with a wink.

Laura saw Layton's face go red, and his smile turn into embarrassment. "Hardly the truth, Headmaster, you flatter me too much."

"Anyway, Miss Laura, I should be going now. Off to my studies for my own sake. Keep up with your own!" He turned towards Layton, and began mumbling something inaudible but Laura heard 'scholarship' and 'award' before turning away. She wondered what professors talked about anyway.

She headed down the long row of tomes and dusty articles, searching for books on puzzles, and eventually made her way down two other shelves with no luck before almost bumping into someone again.

"Goodness, I'm having rotten luck, I…" she started, looking up to face Professor Layton.

"Seems you're a magnet today, Laura!" he chuckled, holding his stack of books fast to his side.

"Heh, perhaps…"

"What are you looking for? Need any help?"

"Er, well…" She didn't know whether or not she was actually allowed to search for help with the puzzles, now that she thought about it. "It's just that puzzle from yesterday. I'm having some trouble and—"

"Would you like some assistance?"

"Well, I was searching for books that may help, but I'm not sure if that's allowed…"

"Of course it is!" he said, straightening his hat and flashing a smile. "We all need help once in a while, or maybe more often, as those such as myself need. But for _that_ puzzle, I'm sure you won't find any hints here. Come, I'll help you in my office."

"O-okay," Laura said, surprised, but slightly relieved.

It was awkward, following her professor. The resounding clicks of her shoes off of the floor tiles seemed louder, her breathing seemed more audible, and her lack of conversation put her off more so than when she was around the girls. She felt she should be saying something intelligent or clever, lest he consider her sub-class in brains, but neither said anything until reaching the office. "It's hardly suitable as a study, but it should serve us for our purpose." He smiled and turned the knob.

One large window was positioned on the wall opposite the door, a sturdy cherry wood desk sitting in front of it. Books lined the shelves built into the walls on both sides of the study, a giant globe sitting heavily amidst the lot of them on a larger shelf. Books on history, archaeology, ancient civilization, excavations, London, and…puzzles. Almost two-thirds of the books seemed to include the word puzzle in the title written on the spine, but Laura wasn't sure if the books were purely about puzzles themselves.

"It should do." Layton smiled warmly at Laura's amazement and walked around her, stepping inside the room. She didn't notice herself staring, and then realized she was still gawking in the frame of the doorway. The Professor motioned to an arm chair in front of his desk. He sat down lightly in the large wooden chair behind the desk. It had ornate pictures carved into its back. Laura followed suit, landing in an overly soft, blue seat. It was only then she noticed the mountain of mess on the desk, and…all over the floor. Books, books, and more books.

"This is quite the collection," she ventured to say. "The books, I mean."

"I have ten times more at home! But I couldn't come here without some sort of decorating, so I brought a…a tenth, I suppose this is." He chuckled. The place smelled of tea and baked bread. He walked to a kettle on a portable burner and poured himself a cup of something dark brown, yet golden when the sun hit it. "Care for some tea, Laura?" She shook her head.

"No thank you. I don't much care for hot drinks anyway, I'm sorry…" She looked at her feet and smiled nervously, ashamed for denying her superior. Her parents warned her of her independent and forthright attitude. '_He probably can tell my defiance and that's why he doesn't take note of my puzzles!_'

"That is fine, my dear. Women seem to fancy sweeter things, don't they?" He sat down again.

"No, it's not that," she said, shaking her head. "I actually don't care for sweets, but I'm naturally warm, so I don't think I like adding to it with warm beverages. I prefer my water iced, even. It smells lovely though!" she offered honestly. He smiled again.

"A fair argument. But, tell me, have you tried Gingersnap Tea?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"I…can't say I have…"

"Lovely concoction my mother used to make. I go to a little shop about 35 minutes from town every other week just to get the right ingredients. I must say, it's my favorite, as far as sweeter drinks go. But on most occasions"—he emptied his glass in two gulps—"I favor the stronger sort. Slightly peppery, you may say spicy, even. Dash of sugar, but too much masks sourness, which is always a delightful aftertaste." He poured himself another cup, sipping it happily.

Laura stared silently, mentally running through the list of tea traits she had attributed to the professor earlier with the girls. "Really? That sounds quite lovely, actually…"

"Excellent stuff, my dear." He downed his glass again.

"If you could get me the recipe, I'd love to try it. Although, sour is more my thing."

"I have just the recipe for _that_ sort of preference as well. I'm quite the…_tea_ connoisseur, you could say." He chuckled as he opened a drawer and removed a pen and a pad of paper. "Now, what was it…" He scribbled some words and numbers hurriedly. "Here, try this one, and tell me your opinion. I guarantee it to change your mind on hot drinks." He handed her the paper. "And _this_ one…is tried and true for those with more feisty preferences. Sour, slightly spicy, and it's quite good at room temperature, so it's more of your style." He wrote a bit more on another sheet and pushed it across the table to Laura.

"So…you need all these ingredients…" She read over the ginger recipe, slightly miffed.

" I'll gather some up and bring them to class, no worries." He shut the desk drawer softly and rose from his seat, eyes pouring over the titles of the books on their shelves. "Now, where was that book…"

Laura sat quietly, hands in her lap, blinking against the bright sun. She didn't want to take too much of the professor's time, but he seemed to go off on tangents on his own freewill. She cleared her throat. "I hope I'm not bothering you, Professor. If you're too busy…"

"Nonsense!" He waved his hand, as if shooing away the prospect of him being too harried to help. "This is my purpose of being here. If I didn't want to help teach, I wouldn't be standing here, studying all these books over…" he grabbed a book from the shelf, "…and besides, I can't turn away a good puzzle. Every puzzle has an answer, after all!" He handed her the book. "For future puzzles. It's also a good read on its own. I'm sure you'll enjoy. Now then, that puzzle from yesterday…"

"Oh! Yes, let me get my paper." Laura reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The Professor smiled.

"You're the first student here to inquire for assistance on a puzzle!"

"O..oh? Everyone has been understanding these perfectly?" She suddenly felt dumb.

"Of course not! They just turn them in 'as is'."

"Meaning…"

"Meaning, clearly, that there are several who don't put in enough effort, and, _clearly_, they really don't care much for my puzzles, and in the end, I get to grade half-solved assignments. Or, half-defeated, I'm not so sure which way to look at it." Laura laughed softly. "I suppose it isn't a common thing, to have a puzzle obsession," he sighed.

"Sorry."

"Oh, it's not your fault, dear, I'm just rambling."

"Well, I meant for my ridiculous puzzle solving. I'm sure I do it in a very roundabout way, I'm not really good at it." She smiled awkwardly, nervous about how she'd fared on her assignments.

"Well, on _that_ note," he pointed at her vaguely, "as you heard, the Headmaster alluded to your prowess in the class. Of course, what I mean is more than just scoring well on my quizzes. It's my _puzzles_ that I'm referring to. You are doing very well, even if it's not the most important part."

" I'm sure I've been performing subpar," Laura assured him. "I really do have a lot to learn about this puzzle business, I've only really solved those ones in little books that people gives as party favors or in little gift baskets."

"Miss Laura, in all honesty, your sense of logic far exceeds many of the most seasoned puzzle solvers. I make it sound like a profession, but puzzle solving really is an art of its own, one that you develop skills for, picking up tricks along the way. Maybe you've gathered that."

Laura nodded, admittedly only picking that up a day ago.

"And it is hard to come by those who truly appreciate those skills and tricks, or just the flat, most basic definition of logic, those who have a wonder of the ability to 'sense the common sense'. I have many colleagues even that may learn a thing or two about your reasoning abilities…" He pulled a folder from his desk drawer. "Ah, here we go. All your previous puzzles and their solutions."

Laura noticed several red pen markings all over the pages. "Um…"

"Ignore the red. Those aren't corrections, merely me analyzing. They're yours to keep."

Laura took the papers and gave them a once-over before returning to the reason she was here. "Oh yes, I… It's almost 2 o'clock."

The Professor snorted, wide-eyed. "Unbelievable! Good Heavens, I apologize, seems I've gone off on far too many subjects. I have this problem with my fellow faculty members." He laughed softly. "I have a meeting at 2:30, but would you be free afterwards, Miss Laura?"

"Well, I think I actually might have the answer now," she said, gathering her papers and placing them into her bag. "I should be getting back home to practice…something—yes, practice something before my parents question my whereabouts."

"I apologize again, Miss Laura, but that will have to do for now. We will go over that puzzle in class since…well, if _you_ are in here for help, most of the other ladies surely will want some help as well."

"Thank you, Professor. See you tomorrow."

"Have a good day."

Laura swiftly left the room, sighing in relief.

'_A talker, that one…_'

END.


	5. CHAPTER 5: YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT

**I'm saving your eyes, since the last chapter was very long. Haha.**

**Well, it's not to satisfying, but we find out something interesting in this lame chapter. MYSTERY SOLVED. Sort of.**

**Anyway, hope it wasn't anticlimactic. Sorry. There's more to come. Trust me.**

**Putting the bill on your tab,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 5: YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT**

"Of all places, an ice cream parlor."

Professor Layton looked grimly upon what appeared to be a young girl, seated alone at the table. She made no movement, even though his voice was audible enough; she should have noticed her being addressed. The bowl on the table was empty, and a glass of milk sat next to it. A large yellow envelope lay in front of the girl, sealed with a small string tie.

She stared in front of her at the envelope, remaining motionless. "Of all places, why _not_ an ice cream parlor?"

The professor's mouth turned sharply into a frown. "You disappear into oblivion, and then reappear in the midst of a sea of children. Your style is hardly typical. Yet, I can't say it surprises me."

"Oh, yes. Nor am I surprised at your puzzle solving skills. Seems that we just might know each other after all. Did you like your puzzle?" the girl chided, her voice's inflection turning all the more sarcastic with every word she spoke. "It shouldn't have proven difficult. It wasn't very clever."

"It was _quite_ clever, I'll admit, though careless. Unless you meant to be found so easily."

"All puzzles have an answer." She finally turned her head upward, revealing a set of large, black eyes that showed her age more appropriately. She was not a child, but still appeared young. She smiled genuinely, but Layton thought it felt cold. "Of course I meant to be found. And it would only be easy for you. Tell me, how did you figure it out?"

The professor felt his heart clench and stomach feel empty, the same way when he read the mysterious paper's list. That smile…

"Only someone who knew you well could solve it. I'm the _only_ person capable of solving it." He meant to remain steadfast in his harsh glare, but felt it wavering. His eyes softened. "It's been some time, Laura. But I haven't forgotten you." Laura rose from her seat, barely standing to an even five feet. "Not even for a day."

"Good afternoon, Hershel. You know, I actually expected you this morning."

The professor shook his head, pulling the brim of his top hat lower.

"I wasn't expecting anything like this…"

END.


	6. CHAPTER 6: ONE LUMP OR TWO?

**Oh my, we have a change of personality here. Slightly. But for good reason. For reasons UNDISCLOSED. Anyway, enjoy. Or not. :[**

**Smelling pine wreaths everywhere,**

**Kelsey/Ken**

* * *

**CHAPTER 6: ONE LUMP OR TWO?**

It was a Monday colder than the one a week ago, and Laura found herself scrambling for a coat. She hadn't yet unpacked all her cold weather clothing, unsuccessfully transitioning her closet from summer to winter. After a quick tussle through a previously unopened box, she managed to find a cobalt blue pea coat and a wool cap, finally ready to seize the day.

Only five minutes from campus, she was stopped by a squeal and a tug on the back of her coat.

"Laura, this was your coat from last year!" screeched Millie.

"And?" Laura waited apprehensively for the reply, knowing it would be something inane, enough to make her blood boil. It wasn't a day for messing around, she had decided. Her stomach wasn't reacting well to her breakfast oatmeal.

"Well, the words _last year_ should be enough to get that big head of yours to think!" she quipped, her eyes rolling dramatically. Laura pretended to examine her coat sleeves, checking for some sign—no, _disease_—that would make the coat unusable.

"Last time I checked, coats didn't have a year long, no, a _winter_ long lifespan, Millie. They are reusable you know, not like a disposable napkin."

"You know, for someone of your upbringing and brainiac character, you sure do misunderstand so many things. Like, fashion changes." The blonde tugged on her own coat, pointing out the plaid design and patterned inlay around the cuffs. "In. This is all in."

"That's in. And I'm out," Laura sighed, turning around and continuing towards the front gates of the college.

"Hold it, I'm not finished!" Millie smashed an envelope into Laura hands. "Invite!"

Laura looked at it skeptically. "For?"

"Well, you're supposed to actually _open_ it and see, but I'll tell you anyway! Tea party, Miss Laura. Tea party slash brunch."

And indeed, the invite actually read "Tea party/brunch", just as the girl had been toting for over a week. Laura silently complimented her consistency, but felt her stomach sink. She hated gatherings.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Oh, you'll want to come! All of our professors and department heads will be there! Even the headmaster himself! And…Herrrrrrrrrrrrshel," Millie purred, disgustingly, Laura thought.

"I see them enough at school, don't you think?"

"There's never enough of Layton. Ever."

Millie continued peppering the archaeology professor with compliments and praises until they had both reached the classroom door, causing Laura to think twice about taking the same walking route as her classmate.

'_Might need to switch it up…_'

Layton had already begun casually chatting with the early students, taking his usual place at the front of the classroom, at front of his desk, sitting against the ledge.

"Good morning, ladies. Millie, Laura." He nodded his head as he said each name.

Laura knew better than to even try to respond as Millie raced past her and thrust an invitation into the professor's hands.

"Good morning, Professor Layton! I have an invitation for you! Please say you'll come!"

He laughed softly and began to place the envelope on his desk.

"Well, I'm not even sure what it is for—" Millie grabbed the envelope and ripped it open for him.

"Find out! Everyone's invited!"

All of the girls chattered amongst each other as more invites were passed around, Laura finally situating herself at her desk of choice: next to the window, right in the middle of the column. Layton cleared his throat, managing to coax Millie to a seat.

"Well, this sounds very exciting, ladies, but back to studies…"

"If you don't come, I won't come to class anymore!" Millie said loudly, batting her eyes. Her friends giggled around her, agreeing with Yeah's and Me too's. Layton shook his head, smiling.

"I'll dedicate some time thinking about out of class functions, out of class. Now then, are we all here? One, two, three… Ah, okay, splendid. Then, today's the test, so I assume you've all studied well. You'll have 30 minutes to…"

Laura already was in another world, thinking about other things. Before she knew it, she was taking the test, rushing through the questions, jotting down answers that she hoped were correct. And, done. She looked it over hurriedly, and glanced around her: 30 minutes had went by and only one other girl remained, the others having already turned in their tests and left early.

'_I never notice others leaving during tests…_'

She watched the other girl turn her test in and leave as she was placing her pencil in her utensil case. Gathering her belongings, she walked to Professor Layton's desk.

"Finished then?" he asked, reaching his hand out to take the paper, smiling.

"Sorry for keeping you, I never realize the time going around me."

"Nonsense, you technically have 10 minutes left should you have any sudden changes you wish to make."

"I'm through." She turned towards the door when the professor opened a desk drawer.

"Ah, yes! I have something for you." He pulled out a brown paper lunch bag, the top rolled down to rest on the squashed contents. "Instructions are inside."

Laura took the bag Layton slid across the desk top, looking at it quizzically. "This is…?"

"Tea ingredients. You know, the one I told you about when you came to my office."

"Ah, yes, well, that was fast!" She peered inside the bag, a lovely scent wafting from within. "Smells delicious."

"It ought to be a good way to warm up, especially with this cool weather that blew in!" He held up a hand to stop Laura as she opened up her pocketbook. "No no, it's fine, it's my treat."

"You know I don't enjoy hot tea," Laura said with a small grin.

"You can keep your coat and hat on then as you enjoy it cold," he said, laughing.

She smiled slightly, shrugging. "I'll try it both ways and let you know."

He chuckled, eyeing the invitation Millie had passed out. "Ah yes, this."

"Apologies in advance."

"Oh my, you shouldn't judge before experiencing it yourself!" he chided gently, still smiling. Laura immediately yelled at herself inwardly for making such a sarcastic comment when it didn't directly concern her.

"A jest. You would enjoy it. I'm sure Millie has the best of teas."

"Oh, I must see what is being served, since you say that. Will you be attending, Miss Laura?"

She absentmindedly brushed an invisible fuzz from her shoulder. "I might have some errands. I'll have to see."

"I'm sure you can make time for friends," he chortled. "Even the best of scholars take breaks."

Laura smiled and sighed. "Perhaps. Well, good day, Professor. Thank you again."

"My pleasure."

Laura walked from the room, the door closing with a soft click.

'_That was awfully nice_,' she thought to herself, eyebrows raised. '_No one ever gets me little gifts for no reason... To just…well…give a gift!_' She felt awkward, not giving some sort of compensation, especially since the tea was so complex, and was most likely expensive. She decided she'd have to return the favor somehow.

"Staying later than the rest of us, Laura?"

Laura was shook out of her reverie (as usual) and looked up, blinking. "Huh?"

"Sweet time with the Professor!" It was Clara, one of Millie's friends. No, cronies. Maybe a goon, Laura couldn't decide. But she had a puggish look about her, as if trying to start an argument. "What's with the staying over? That was a simple test, should have taken you no time. Not even _we_ play tricks like that to talk with Hershel!"

Laura was too busy trying to calm her stomach and her mind, that she'd forgotten manners and class. She thought she could let it go just this once; she'd tired of playing Goodie Two Shoes for the past 17 years. One break wasn't sending her to hell.

"Tricks? Tricks. Yes, tricks. I'm so _stupid_ and juvenile that I'll play a trick like staying longer for a test, just to spend time with a blithering idiot who talks about rocks and temples and other dilapidated things, and ridiculous, disgusting hot tea!" Clara breathed in sharply, as if the words cut her deep. "Yes! I'll play that trick. When I could just go to his office during his office hours, and talk my head off anyhow! And if _any_ of you—" she pointed around at the group of girls, arranged in a weak semi-circle around Clara and Laura, "—had an ounce of brain in your skull, maybe you'd think to do _that_ and have your grades improve instead of wasting precious time staying after a test just to chat! Tricks indeed! As if I have _time_ to waste! A waste of time, the lot of you!"

She unfortunately hadn't heard the classroom door open and close behind her, a half-confused Professor Layton staring dumbfounded in front of the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other laying limp at his side. The girls around Laura stood with mouths agape, feeling the awkward tension rise. Laura's face was already red, but grew warmer, realizing her mistake.

'_Stupid cartoonish luck….he's standing right behind me…._'

"Is there…a problem?" Layton asked hesitantly, finally locking the door.

Clara shook her head, unwilling to save Laura's reputation, but more unwilling to risk sharing her own persecutions against her. "No problem, Professor. We just had a misunderstanding."

"Laura, are you feeling okay?"

Laura didn't turn around, but nodded, staring into space. "There's no problem here." She briskly cut through the girls' cluster and continued down the hall, signaling for the rest of them that the confrontation was over. Each picked up her bag and scurried off without a word.

Layton walked quickly behind the broken group of girls, chattering amongst themselves. A majority of them hurried to the washroom, the others ducking into the library entrance, allowing the professor passage. He caught up with Laura, who was now walking listlessly in the entrance hall, looking at something in her wallet.

"Excuse me, Miss Laura." She twirled around surprised, shoving the wallet into her bag. She stared blankly at the professor. Layton breathed deeply for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

'_I'm not even used to fast-paced walking?! So out of shape…I need to get fit..._' he thought to himself guiltily.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I'm just not used to…well, never mind." He straightened his hat. "Is everything quite alright? I'm wondering what that was all about back there."

"I'm fine."

"Was there some sort of provocation?"

"I just became upset at something one of the girls mentioned, that's all." She gave the most matter of factual expression she could muster. "I haven't felt well. I must have just gotten very annoyed."

The professor eyed her suspiciously. "I need to be made aware of any hostility that might be going on in class or on campus in general. I trust that you would inform me, should there be anything threatening occurring."

Laura snorted softly. "Oh, it's nothing _that_ serious. I'm sure you'd find out anyway if something that bad was going on." She knew he was probably briefed heavily by the administrators who were afraid of anything negative happening at their precious school.

'_Was probably_ _told that if anything happened on his watch, he'd be canned_,' she thought, laughing inside. '_Poor neophyte… What a tactic!_'

The professor's expression changed back to his notorious smile. "Of course. At any rate, if nothing's wrong between you and the girls, is there anything wrong with you personally?"

She wanted to ask sarcastically whether he thought he was a psychiatrist or an archaeologist, but bit her tongue. "I'm alive. That's better than some." She smiled, hoping that would give him enough information.

He nodded, unconvinced. "I see. Well, take care of yourself. Next time, perhaps you could…"

But Laura wasn't even listening. She hated being lectured on things the lecturer him or herself did not even understand. It was like an unmarried, cat-lady giving marriage counseling. Or a fat nutritionist giving health advice, or a dentist with bad teeth telling children to brush... Her list went on and on. What a bother.

"Laura?"

"Yes, I understand. If you'll excuse me, I'm running a bit late already. Thank you." She turned quickly and continued down the hall until reaching the door.

Layton frowned, his curiosity piqued.

"Curious."

* * *

**END.**


	7. CHAPTER 7: PAST REVISITED

**Oh ho ho. What have we here? ANOTHER BORING CHAPTER. Don't worry, this one's much shorter than the last. :[**

**Dancing to Nepal,**

**Kelsey/Ken**

* * *

**CHAPTER 7: PAST REVISITED**

"You might take a seat."

The professor sat himself heavily across from his quarry. His unexpected quarry. "I might."

Laura smiled. "You can order something if you wish."

"I'll be fine. Let's cut to the chase."

"Oh, business-like as usual. That's a useful trait. In business anyway. Or in matter-of-fact situations." She folded her hands and leaned her elbows on the table, peering over her fingers with bored eyes. "Cut to the chase, indeed."

Layton shifted himself, trying to find a comfortable position in the outdoor metal chair. "You do realize this is somewhat off-putting, or perhaps it's more correct to say alarming, upsetting—"

"Disconcerting?"

"Yes, quite—it is all those, to see someone who had disappeared 10 years prior. Someone I haven't seen in 10 years manifests right before my eyes. It's like…dark magic. Or a sick joke. A trick."

Laura finished her glass of milk, then wiped her mouth with a small napkin. "It is no trick, I assure you. The past 10 years are no trick. No lie. Although, they could have been, had I been able to convince myself of that. It's a right shame I couldn't. But really, did you think I'd died or something?"

"Laurie, please, is this really necessary?"

The girl shot him a glacial look, icy enough to freeze any previous trains of thought and prevent them from speeding onward. "Laurie? Really? Ten years go by and you have the audacity to call me _Laurie_? Did you really have the right to do so back then?"

"I—"

"No excuses, no apologies. Just don't call me that again. No one calls me that anymore, and no one ever will." Instantly, her anger waned, curt tone subsiding, as if she'd been speaking in the same monotone voice the entire time. "And to answer your question, yes. It is definitely necessary. Before I answer why I led you here—yes, I knew you were getting to that—you need to know some things."

Layton sighed. "I guess there's no escaping. I will say I'm sorry, not for calling you what I feel the need to call you, but for trying to take the least painful route and ignore your…your…grievances, I suppose. I'm sure you have something to say, for the way you were treated. And you have every right to." He rested an elbow on the table's glass top, rubbing his forehead slowly with his thumb and index finger. "It's just….I'll be honest. It hurts."

The girl raised her gaze back to the professor. "What hurts?"

"All this, everything. Feelings, thoughts, events, a plethora of things that I had locked away. Things I thought had disappeared for good. And now, ten years of struggling rushes back to the forefront within a second's time. Physically, it'd be like 10 litres of water being forced through a pinhole, in an instant."

Laura nodded approvingly. "Good analogy. Here's another one: it's more like being lied to, screwed over, told by your own reflection that it didn't happen, and then being called Laurie. Oh, wait. That's reality, not an analogy." She chuckled to herself, despite the apparent fact that her company did not enjoy it as much as she did.

"You know, you weren't the only one affected." He gave her a stern look through his fingers, still rubbing his head.

"Perhaps not, I'll give you some credit. But, I was the only one ruined. Perhaps you should enjoy some tea. You might need it for our little chat. This might take a while, do you have the time? Or do you have rocks to analyze? And by rocks, I mean rocks. Not those dunderheads at the university." She smiled, almost craftily, like a cat.

The professor flagged down a waitress and solemnly placed an order for Earl Gray, silently hoping that Luke was fine on his own for a bit.


	8. CHAPTER 8: THE BEGINNING OF THE END

**Um. Well. I have no excuse. This chapter is very long. Shall I say hella long. Super duper long. It's 15 pages long in a word document at 11 pt font. Over 9,000 words. I apologize. Hmmm…not really. :]**

**It's the product of several nights' worth of staying up until 4 or 5 AM, and waking up at 9 or 10 AM. Not to mention helping out around the house (I'm the eldest of 12 kiddos, so I have my work cut out for me!) and Christmas coming up. I eat stress for breakfast.**

**Anyway, this chapter didn't turn out the way I originally intended. I don't know what happened. I'm not quite content with it but….oh well. I'm not good with feelings. Not like romantic garbage but…raw humanity. It touches a bit on that. I took a lot of my own mental dialogue and quirks and threw them in this chapter.**

**Hmm, I suppose that I could have split this into several chapters but, it all kind of ties in so I kept it together. SUE ME.**

**No, please don't. I'm poor. :[[[[**

**Paying off Sallie Mae and the US government,**

**Kelsey**

**CHAPTER 8: THE BEGINNING OF THE END **

The Miller family had a strange sense of humor. They would call it "eccentric", but it was not the choice word of those who talked about them. At least, not the word used when talking behind their backs. However, they had money, and it talked louder than the words behind closed doors.

Morton Miller ran steel mills throughout all of Great Britain, although the man knew more about the metal he earned rather than the metal he milled. His wife, Maureen, appreciated this fact most of all, as she had no interest in steel. She found herself cursed with a daughter, although she attempted to prevent it, and a son three years later. The only solace she found in it was choosing names, both of which had to start with "M". And thus, Millicent (Millie) and Miles found their way onto the family tree.

The children were only allowed to go outside when running errands, as their mother's fear of the sun forced them all to stay indoors for the majority of the day. While indoors, their activities were also severely limited, as they weren't allowed to touch the piano ("It's an antique!"), use the easel ("Learn to paint and you can use it"), eat treats ("Children shouldn't have cavities"), or roller skate in the basement rink ("You'll crack your head open"). Which meant, reading books, and learning to play card games as their father did (he was a heavy gambler). Millie had slightly more freedom, as her mother let her use make-up liberally and bought her new clothes constantly, but Miles was left with the bare minimum; after all, Maureen didn't much care for boys.

Their white-brick house sat a good 100 meters from the street curb, a giant mansion of a home that dwarfed all houses (and trees) around the neighborhood. The lawn was cut at a short length, the grass a vibrant emerald, and the landscaping made use of large shrubs and hedges around the perimeter, like a giant forest fence. Enormous works of horticultural art graced different parts of the yard, and a stone fountain sat heavily in an oval courtyard just in front of the house. The grounds themselves were impressive, let alone the ornate interior, the majority of it layered in white marble and granite (which posed a hazard for little knees and elbows: "No running in the house!").

It was at the family dining room table (Brazilian mahogany, no longer available due to excessive deforestation) on the morning of Saturday, October 3rd, that Millie sat, pretending to talk amongst imaginary people, just as she planned to sound for her party guests that afternoon. It was a habit she'd acquired in early childhood, not having much else to do.

"Oh yes, of course I got right into University. My father was head of the Board 10 years ago, and is good friends of many of the Board members now. Oh, Professor Layton, would you like some more tea? Excuse me, Trudy, could you get Hershel a spot of tea? Hee hee hee." She rubbed her hands together, smiling. "Now to make sure everything is set!"

She strolled to the back door, leading to the patio. Her mother stood outside with an umbrella.

"Oh, Millie, are you sure you want tables set up outdoors? What about your fair skin?" She fussed with her daughter's hair, poking loose strands back into their places.

"Mum, some people enjoy the outdoors, and I don't dare go against their wishes. The headmaster especially loves nature; he'll appreciate our grounds." She called her maid over and ran through the to-do list. "Trudy, make sure the hors d'ourves are kept at appropriate temperatures. No one will be getting food poisoning from _my_ party."

She rushed inside, searching for her father, who stood talking with a short, round man at the front door. She latched onto her father's arm and whined.

"Father, couldn't you be a bit less busy and attend to tasks around the house? I want everything to be immaculate for my teachers!"

Morton brushed his daughter gently from his suit coat. "Everything's taken care of, Millie, you remember Mr. Dover from the mill? He'll be joining us this afternoon." The girl shook the little man's hand delicately (the sort of delicate that a person uses when touching something curious yet visibly disgusting) and smiled.

"Charmed." The man tried to reply but was cut short. "Now then, I'll be off to do daddy's job, since he's too busy with social matters!" She scuttled off, tossing around her long skirts, leaving Mr. Dover to the thought everyone outside the Miller family had: mad in the head. Plain and simple _mad_.

Laura ironed an old and seldom worn yellow, cotton dress, making sure the many wrinkles (courtesy of 1 year in the closet) were pressed out. It wasn't that the dress was undesirable; it was just reserved for special occasions, occasions that Laura rarely attended. She held it up, doing a sweeping check for any errant creases, and found it satisfactory. She dressed, grabbed a pair of yellow dress sandals and her hand bag, and walked down the stairs to the front door. As she fixed the shoe buckles, her mother entered the foyer.

"Make sure you give Mr. and Mrs. Miller our respects. And, this is for Mrs. Miller." She handed her daughter a small box. Laura eyed it carefully.

"Swainson's Chocolate?"

"How did you know? So astute. Don't sneak any." She turned on her heels and disappeared down the dark-wood paneled hallway. Laura rolled her eyes, recalling that Swainson's had a small amount of edible gold in each piece. Just what I've always wanted, she thought: to poop out precious metals. Mr. Miller would be proud.

She found herself feeling glad that the weather was strangely warm for an early October afternoon. Just warm enough for her pastel dress. She checked her watch often as she walked down the sidewalk, making her way two blocks to Millie's house. She didn't want to be exactly on time, but didn't want to be too late either. She was odd with time, not caring to be late to classes she deemed unnecessary, but caring just enough to be on time to matters such as these.

A tea party. Really? It seemed simple, innocent enough, but Laura knew better. She knew _Millie _better. If it weren't the purpose of the party to put down those who were considered _bourgeois_ by Millie's standards, it would be to suck up to the University administration. Or to get into the archaeology professor's knickers.

"Oh, aren't you naughty!" Laura thought for a moment her thoughts were heard, but noticed differently after snapping back to reality. A corpulent woman, too large for her dress, waddled a good 5 meters ahead, raucously laughing and slapping the shoulder of a man quite her opposite. He wavered in his gait.

"Madam Lorraine, surely Mr. Miller won't approve of this behavior at his daughter's party. Shouldn't we return and-" He was eagerly pushed ahead by a fat hand.

"Surely Mr. Miller won't approve of _you_ at his daughter's party! Such a prudish child, how do you manage?"

Laura slightly felt sorry for the fellow, noticing the beads of sweat on his brow. She wondered who they were, but assumed she'd find out soon enough, as the strange couple turned to enter the Miller's grand estate.

The view of the compound was always bittersweet. It really was amazing, the architecture and energy of the place. But its owners were the bitter part, and the look on Millicent Miller's face even more so. Laura patiently walked up the lane, waiting for Millie to personally greet each guest before allowing them entrance to her "humble abode," as the girl kept repeating. It became Laura's turn. Millie curled her lips awkwardly.

"Oh, Laura. You managed to make it. Didn't put too much stress on you to dig out your old frock, did it?"

'_Why did I come…._'

"Hardly. And I don't care much for masks, so my make-up didn't even make it out of the drawer this morning."

Millie looked at her questioningly, feigning interest. "You own make-up?"

"Might you accept this gift from my parents?" Laura proffered, ignoring the stupid look on her 'friend'. "It's just something small for your mother. Nothing too extravagant."

"I'm sure. I'll be sure to let you know when my most esteemed guest arrives!" She clapped her hands together rapidly in succession, ushering Laura inside. "Snacks in the back, tea on the patio, restroom by the staircase, make yourself at home, okay! Mr. Limburger, glad you could make it…"

Laura left the rest of the victims to the welcome wagon, feeling sorry for the little chocolate box that was thrown haphazardly onto a mountain of other gifts and bobbles. She'd let Millie's comments roll off her so often that it never phased her, but anything new having to come in contact with her, unawares of her personality? She felt pity. Even for the future-excrement gold chocolate.

She walked through the bleached-white hallway, large portraits covering the walls. They provided the only color in the home, it seemed. The rest blazed white, as if it threatened to blind. Upon entering the kitchen, she then heard the chatter and laughter of the guests on the outdoor deck. Several maids and chefs flew through the kitchen, arranging treats and appetizers on ceramic trays, pouring tea into mini cups. Laura stood in the doorway, mesmerized by their flurry. She could never imagine maids and cooks scurrying in her home. One of them stopped, caught off-guard by the girl in the yellow dress. She smiled kindly.

"Young miss, the party is just out back. Please come this way."

"Do you need any help? It looks stressful."

The maid laughed heartily. She was certainly genuine. "You are absolutely not allowed to bother with anything this fine afternoon. Please, enjoy yourself in this lovely weather. Come, follow me." She grabbed two large trays with small cakes and pressed through two large French doors on swinging hinges, Laura following closely behind.

The yard was packed with people of all sorts: fat, old, rich women; skinny, old, rich women; loud rich men, poking fun at other loud rich men. Well, perhaps not all sorts, considering they were mostly just rich. Laura found herself nervous. She never liked these situations. Although her family was wealthy, well-known, and well-liked, she herself was not. She never much cared for money, or expensive trinkets, or even reputation. What on earth would she have to talk about?

She looked over a food table, reading each dish's card label, trying to find something that she could pronounce the name of.

'_French food, be damned_.'

"Why hello there, young lady. You're the Haris girl, aren't you?" Laura looked up into the face of an older gentleman. He carried a gold pocket watch in his left hand, and kept glancing at it.

"Yes, I am. My name is Laura. I'm sorry, you are…?"

"Roy T. Arnold, I'm a good friend of your father's. We used to work on the same campaign back in the day. Political stuff."

"Oh, yes, that's interesting," she lied, wondering how he'd recognized her. "I'll be sure to tell father that I'd met you, Mr. Arnold. You should visit sometime. I'm sure he'd love to have you for tea."

He laughed feebly. "Yes, and I'm sure he could still hound me for all the times he beat me at water polo back at University. Oh yes, it was the summer of '76, and let me tell you…"

Laura listened with fake interest, nodding when appropriate, not knowing whether or not she was still being addressed as Mr. Arnold had pulled two more people into the conversation and were all now discussing the rise and fall of Schnauzer popularity in Great Britain. When she realized they had all discontinued their intermittent glancing over at her, she knew they'd forgotten her presence and quickly made a getaway. She perused the yard, seeing if she recognized anyone willing to talk about something more interesting than water polo and dogs.

The Headmaster was toasting an elderly woman who could barely stand without the assistance of a walker, and several people gathered around cheered and downed their glasses.

"I'll be sure to flag down Hershel as soon as he gets here, Mrs. Delmona, and let him know you are here! He'll be delighted, I'm sure," the Headmaster emphasized, smiling broadly. Laura absentmindedly glanced around again. Oh yes, she thought. He's supposed to be here.

"I hadn't even noticed," she whispered to herself, returning to the house.

She walked slowly through a large dining room, the clicking of her sandals echoing throughout the space. A group of younger, well-dressed ladies giggled amongst themselves. Laura noticed one of them being Mrs. Miller. She would have waved, had the woman not obviously looked at the stain that entered the room (the stain being Laura) and found it useless to bother with at the moment.

She had little time to be self-conscious about it as Millie had just squealed, apparently a cue to her posse to join in with her. Laura wondered when they had arrived; they were currently all huddled around the door.

"Professor Layton, I'm so glad you made it!" Millie said shrilly. The Professor tipped his wool cap forward, smiling his trademark smile at the group of girls. He stepped over the lip of the door jam and laughed. Laura felt a strange twinge in the middle of her chest plate, and it quickly ate through her stomach and returned to its origins. She shot a precautionary glance to her left and right, as if to make sure no one noticed the sensation, although she was the only one who could have possibly known about it.

She took a few steps forward to see better into the foyer. Millie grabbed a small box from a stack next to the door, obviously meant for all the guests (although Millie had obviously "forgotten" to hand one to Laura).

"Here, please, this is from my parents!" Millie forced the little gift into Layton's hands. He blinked, laughing lightly.

"I'm late, and I'm greeted with presents! You are too kind, Miss Miller. Shall I remove my shoes? Your floors look immaculate; I'd hate to soil them."

"That's hardly necessary, Professor. Please, I'll take you to the goodies!" She grabbed his arm and linked it with hers, rightfully catching him off-guard as she pulled him roughly towards the back of the house. Her friends followed them, chittering in their wake. Layton stopped Millie gently, pressing his heels heavily into the floor to break.

"Miss Miller, if you would so kindly point me to a restroom, I would be most appreciative. If you would greet the rest of your guests, I wouldn't feel quite so-"

"Oh, Professor, you deserve it! But I'll do as you say! I'll come find you as soon as all of the guests on my list have arrived!" She left him at the bathroom door and skipped back to the front door, girl-gaggle following suit. Laura shook her head in amazement and disgust, retreating to the dining room once again. They really were all like geese, she decided. She started admiring a surprisingly violent painting hanging in the middle of a wall when someone appeared beside her.

"Miss Laura, what a pleasant surprise," Professor Layton said just loud enough for her to hear. She broke away from her concentration with a jolt.

"Good Lord, I thought you were in the bathroom," she said breathily, quickly trying to remedy how and why she'd have known that. "I mean, I saw Millie drag you through the hallway and leave you there."

He laughed. "Yes, 'drag' is one way to put it." He moved his shoulder in slow circles. "Perhaps wrenched my arm out of socket…"

"Quite." She glanced at the painting, then back at her teacher, unsure of what to say. She found herself silently grateful when he looked at the painting as well.

"Gussfon's lost masterpiece, '_Bread and Circuses_;' it's a very rare and coveted piece. I'm surprised it isn't hanging in a museum, rather than here."

"I'm not surprised."

Layton laughed. "I suppose it's not _too_ surprising. Still, it's very unusual, especially given the rest of the décor." He motioned to the rest of the room with an open hand.

"Hmm," she agreed. She chanced a look at the ladies, still talking loudly. They were paying no attention to anyone else in the room, which she found unfortunate. If only Millie's mother took note of the Professor, she wouldn't have to carry on this conversation.

"Do you like art, Laura? Do you know much about this piece?"

She scratched her head and ran her hair back between her fingers, her trademark sign of unsure-of-how-to-carry-on-a-conversation. "I suppose it's nice to look at, but I don't care much for most of it. It's too subjective. I knew nothing of this piece before you mentioned its artist and title."

"I see," he said, smiling still. "You know, subjectivity isn't all bad. Do you enjoy any arts?"

She looked at him, daring a sarcastic tone. "It's much better to not be judged on how lovely a painting, a song, a poem is. That can't ever be quantified; it's purely opinion. But to answer your question, yes."

The Professor closed his eyes and held up a pointed finger, ready to say something knowledgeable and irrefutable, Laura was sure, when Millie flew around the corner at top speed.

"Oh Professor, Headmaster Ginlade is looking for you! He says he has someone you'd like to see!" She grabbed Layton's hand and pulled him from the room before anyone had anything to say about it. Laura stood staring at the spot he'd just been, secretly wondering where the conversation would have went, had Millie not been a glutton for attention. But half of her was grateful. She frowned and walked around the room, making her way to all connecting rooms on the first floor. She peered into a quiet living room, about the same size as the giant dining room on the other side of the house. It had a few couches and uncomfortable-looking chairs arranged neatly around the room, the walls punctuated by several large bookshelves. There were no people chatting, so it was rather silent. However, the centerpiece, speaking volumes with its sheer presence, was the large, pearl grand piano sitting heavily in the middle of the room. It was raised on a circular stage, accessible by two shallow steps from the main floor. A ceiling window, more of a cutaway of the ceiling, poured natural sunlight onto the piano's opened top, the golden hammers letting the light glint and dance inside the instrument's cavernous interior. Laura stood dumbfounded.

'_What a beast…_'

She approached it apprehensively, allowing several glances behind her to make sure no one had followed her into the room. This couldn't be heard, it couldn't be known. Not only for the reason of treading into someone's living room without permission, but…

She pressed lightly into the highest C, continuing to press a bit harder until it actually sounded. She mimicked the same pressure on middle C, her hand flying backward in retreat as it sounded much louder than expected. The note's echo lasted longer than Laura anticipated.

"The weight is varied…..troublesome. And what an echo, stupid room… Poor piano, looks ancient, and hardly ever played."

She sat on the matching pearl bench, feeling the cool material beneath her fingers. It didn't even creak. She stared at the keys, each one more dazzling and clean than the next. As her fingers curled under the lip of the bench, she wondered if she should even be here.

"No one will notice, they're all chatting it up, comparing Schnauzers to poodles… Plus," she argued, "this is the only thing I could ever enjoy here. Pity no one here actually knows _how_ to play." Resting her fingers against the keys, she smiled mockingly, eyes squinting into the space where sheetmusic would sit. "Why yes, Professor. I do partake in an art. But you," she slammed her left thumb and fifth finger into an octave, the start of Rachmoninoff's '_Prelude in C Minor_,' "won't ever get to know that."

Professor Layton eagerly began a chat with Mrs. Delmona, the Dean of Gressenheller University's wife, but his eagerness quickly turned into a test of patience as the elderly woman continued with repeated praises of his work at the University. He might have heard her mention a change of his teaching position, but it was so fleeting he didn't bother to dwell on it.

"And my husband never fails to mention your hard work on the research you've been conducting in Ireland! I do say, I'm none familiar with this architecture stuff…"

"Archaeology, Mrs. Delmona," the Professor gently corrected for the 10th time.

"Yes, yes, just as I said, anthropology. I…what is that wonderful sound? I didn't know they'd have live music today." She peered around, a cheery smile at her lips.

The Professor forgave her yet another mislabeling of his line of work and stopped a moment to notice the sound himself.

"Sounds like a piano. There doesn't seem to be a piano out on the grounds. It's a bit faint." He noticed a line of open windows along the left side of the back of the house. "Perhaps it's indoors?"

"Well, your young legs can go take you to find out. I'll just sit out here in back and enjoy this warm weather. Quite curious for October, I do say…"

"I think I might. It's not the sound of an amateur, I wonder who here plays so professionally? Good speaking with you, Mrs. Delmona. I'll catch you for a goodbye before you leave for the afternoon."

He cut through the large crowd situated on the patio and ascended the stairs to the deck. Surely it wasn't proper to weave his way through a stranger's house, but he expected it would be forgiven, given Millie's infatuation with him. He rolled his eyes, thinking about it. What a silly, young child.

He lost the sound for a moment, many groups of giggling women walking about, blocking out the tune. He stopped a moment, and realized the piano had also stopped. Perhaps it was a recording?

A sad melody trailed through the hallways once again, bleeding emotion into the sterile walls. They had not heard a more poignant song in all their static days. The Professor continued his search more quickly, should he risk losing the sound again.

He rushed finally into the living room, the player's upper half blocked out by the music stand on the piano. The yellow sandaled feet showed it was a girl. He walked slowly around the circle stage, ears bent wholly towards the chilling melody, each chord rendering him captured in an ethereal trance. The pianist stared down at her hands, lost in thought.

"Laura?"

Laura immediately stopped the song and stood up, eyes gripped with a strange fear. The bench made a sour scudding sort of sound against the marble floor of the stage, contrasting with the sound that was just being made moments prior. She stared stupidly at her professor.

"I didn't know anyone else was here. Were you listening for some time?"

"No, no, I just heard you outdoors, I was talking with the Dean's wife, I mean-you play piano?" He was spewing out needless information but, what had he just heard? It wasn't the sound of a novice. Did this small girl just produce the music of the masters?

"I'm just as flummoxed as you are, Professor." She stepped away from the instrument, arranging the bench as it was originally. "No, I don't play."

Layton frowned, as one does when they are first told square-faced that tomatoes are indeed botanically fruits. "No, no, no, you _do_ play. I heard it first-hand, just outside, just now. That was you? I'm…I'm stunned, I must say. I didn't know any of my students possessed such talent."

"No, you stand corrected: I do _not_ play. Not anymore." She made to walk down from the stage.

"But I…I'm confused. You just—" He turned her around by the shoulders and gestured for her to sit. "That was playing, Laura. How could you say you don't play piano when you just did?" Laura was taken aback by his tone, somewhat earnest, someone aggravated. It was very different from the soft, genial voice that spoke of ancient ruins and forgotten history.

"What I mean to say is, I don't play anymore, as in, I know _how_ to play, but I do not play as a rule. I don't play at home, I don't take lessons, I don't try to improve. It was a hobby, but I've since drifted away from it." She looked at the keys with a hard glare, as if punishing them for tempting her there. "That is all."

Layton plunked some keys. "I take lessons every two weeks, but I'm no good. However, I've loved the sound of piano since I was a child. I especially admire those who can play with some degree of musicality." He looked up at her from his seat on the bench. "How long have you played?"

"Since I was seven years old. Did anyone else hear me? I shouldn't be here, I never asked for permission."

"Don't worry, I believe it was only me and Mrs. Delmona." He smiled kindly again, putting the seat back. "You really don't want to share your gift, do you?"

She shook her head. "I prefer to keep it to myself. No one judges me that way."

The Professor looked at her sympathetically for a moment, then made his way across the room. "Most of the guests should be leaving soon. I wouldn't dare to touch it again, lest you be heard."

He smiled and left the room. Laura stood on the stage, feeling her hands shake. The aftereffect of beating into the piano. That's what it would be attributed to, had the Professor not just made an entrance. She sat on the stage stair, running her hands down her legs. Why did he have to hear, of all people? She'd succeeded in hiding her secret, and now this idiot young teacher, target of all the other girls' affections and attention, knew it. She might have been mad enough to silence him permanently, had he not offered the last bit of advice before his leaving.

"'Lest you be heard'…" Most people would just tell her how to make the most of her skill: how to make the most money, how to get famous, how to please everyone else but herself. But…would he keep it a secret?

She smiled, numb, staring at the wall across from her.

Only a few guests remained around six o'clock. The cooks were warned that dinner should be finished within the next half hour, no later. As rain clouds formed overhead, the groundskeepers scurried to take down tents and tables before any rain hit. It was enough to get the last few straggling attendees to give their regards and say their goodbyes.

"Now then," Mrs. Miller said with a loud voice, her husband standing at her side. "All those of the administration or of Millie's request are welcome to stay for dinner. The chefs will be serving Miller family favorites, so please feel free to sit back and eat as much as you like."

"Yes, join us in the dining room, if you will," Mr. Miller said, a bleached-white toothy grin flashing as he motioned the college professors to follow him. He loved hosting anyone with influence or cash.

Professor Layton followed behind the rest of his colleagues while continuing a conversation with the Headmaster.

"I do say, quite an ordeal, this whole afternoon must have been, all at the expense of the Millers. What a treat! I haven't ate so well in years." The Headmaster patted his stomach. "I could do with another round actually."

"Quite. I'll meet you after washing up," Layton said, retreating down the hallway to the washroom.

Millie led her friends towards the dining room as well. "Make sure you save me a seat next to Hershel! Anyone tries to cozy up to him, you get to eat with the dogs!"

"Do your dogs eat as well as your family, Millie?"

Millie spun around at the surprise voice. "Laura! What are you still doing here?"

She shrugged. "Attending a party I was invited to?"

"Well, this portion of the event is for University staff and administration only. I'm afraid you'll have to leave." She crossed her arms defiantly. "I'll see you to the door."

"And…them?" Laura pointed to the rest of the girls.

"We all helped plan this party! We have a right to dine with Millie's family this evening," Clara said snootily, her nose in the air.

"I see. Hmm. Do you have an umbrella I could borrow? I left mine at home. It looks as if it's beginning to rain."

"Oh, Laura, it's merely sprinkling! Can't spoil your beautiful hair style, can we?" Millie opened the front door, the sound of a downpour rushing inside. "I suppose you could borrow my broken one, it'll do just as well." She pulled an old gray umbrella from a can next to the door and handed it to Laura.

"I'll return it on Monday."

"Don't bother. It's so tattered anyhow. It's a thanks for attending my party. You added so much." Millie giggled airily. "Do be careful now!"

Laura took a step out onto the front porch, the umbrella held out away from her. She pressed a black button to release the mechanism, forcing open a weak barrier against the rain.

"This won't last the walk home!" Laura exclaimed. "It's practically paper-thin! Say, do you have the daily news? It's probably as good as this rubbish!"

"Well, it's really all I have…" Millie shrugged.

"You mean to tell me the daughter of one of Britain's wealthiest businessmen only has this rag on sticks? It's complete rubbish!"

"Going home early, Laura?" The Professor's face appeared behind the group of girls gathered at the entrance.

"Oh, she's got errands before nightfall," Millie cut in, ushering him towards the dining room. "Dinner's almost done, Professor, you should go sit down."

"I'm not a part of the administration, so I'm returning home before it gets too late," she scoffed as she lifted the umbrella above her head, groaning as the rain dripped through the fabric. "I'll just make a run for it."

"Steady on!" The girls moved aside, Layton pressing through with an extra wide umbrella, opening it over Laura and her sorry excuse for one. "It's not safe to walk back so far with that device. Perhaps Miss Laura would be able to stay for dinner? Surely she's able to stay as one of 'Millie's requests'?" He eyed Millie carefully, unwavering in his smile.

"Well, she was always welcome in the first place, she was busy, I thought she had errands, um, yes. Laura, please come inside and take a place at the table…" Millie grabbed the old umbrella back forcefully and threw it into the can with a clang, not bothering with the trail of water that splattered onto the tile. She stomped off to the dining room. "Hurry, before the food is cold!"

Laura ran her fingers through her damp hair, looking into the door's window. She tried to see her reflection. Useless anyway, she thought.

"Sorry for the misunderstanding, Laura." The Professor sat his own umbrella in the corner after shaking it outside the door. "However, it's not good to catch a cold this time of year. You shouldn't become wet in the rain."

Laura nodded and walked gingerly to a seat at the table. A puggish sort of girl by the name Amy cleared her throat with dramatic emphasis.

"That seat is for Millie, not for-" She immediately shut her mouth as the Professor sat down in the seat next to Laura's.

"I was under the impression that Millie was sitting next to her parents at the head of the table," Layton said matter-of-factly. "It's the only chair available though, so please have a seat, Miss Laura." She sat down next to the Professor, spreading her cloth napkin across her lap and sitting with her hands folded neatly on the table. Millie finally returned from whining to her father about the dessert of choice for the evening, and sneered acidly in Laura's direction. She kicked two of the chairs of her friends.

"I told you to make that seat stay open!" she hissed.

"We tried but…" Too late. Millie turned on her heel and unappreciatively joined her parents and a few of the Board members at the head of the long oak table. Laura ventured to peer down the long line of those seated, smiling awkwardly to herself as her eyes met Millie's soured expression. She almost laughed out loud, but hid it by clearing her throat. Clara and Amy glowered at her through squinted eyes.

Laura quickly became uncomfortable, and food hadn't yet been served. She shuffled nervously in her seat, wishing she was already a block away in the rain, walking home. The girls all began finding pointless conversations and topics to indulge in, none of which Laura had any expertise in. Even if she did, they wouldn't have asked for it.

Professor Layton sipped from a glass of water, noticing her discomfort. "So, Laura, do you not live far from here? You were about ready to venture home in this weather!"

"I'm only about two blocks from here, around a 10 minute walk. It's not far."

"I see. Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself this afternoon. You found something to keep you busy for at least a little while, hm?" He smiled warmly at her, making her feel unsure of how to answer.

"Er, yes. For around 30 minutes. The rest of the hours, I don't know what I did besides walk around."

"Did you meet any friends here?"

"Well, I suppose I saw many people I knew, yes."

The chefs began bringing out the food and dishes in droves, line after line of platters ascending on the diners. Something was placed in front of Laura that stunk like a fisherman drenched in oil.

"This is…"

"Calamari, fried squid. Do you like seafood, Laura?" The Professor put some of the little fried curls on his plate, next reaching for a meat chop of some sort.

"Not caked in flour, no." She curled her nose, unawares of anyone else seeing her reaction. The Professor laughed heartily. "What?"

"It's just that calamari is rather popular, it's funny to see the opposite reaction. Fish and chips not to your liking either, I suppose?"

"I won't touch it." She spooned steamed vegetables and cocktail shrimp onto her plate, trying to find a chicken breast nearby. "I stick with healthier options."

Layton nodded. "That's a good way to be. Now, what would make this the best would be tea afterwards. Hopefully, there's some new ones I haven't tried. I was told there'd be tea…"

Laura was thankful when he finally began chewing, and could only get done cutting through her meat or just putting a bite of food in her own mouth when he'd break the silence and ask something yet again. She kept trying to synchronize her managing to eat with the times Layton would talk with the Headmaster sitting next to him, but she failed miserably.

"Say, Headmaster, see that painting?"

"Oh yes, it's quite rare, what a strange sight in this house!"

"We were admiring it earlier, weren't we, Laura? We said just the same!"

Laura nodded. "Yes, yes, just the same…"

'_What a chore!_'

Millie somehow had maneuvered her chair between two of the girls across from Layton, and was now sitting there, squished rather tightly between her noticeably uncomfortable friends. "So Professor? How was this afternoon? We'll be having tea after dinner! There's some nice ones you'll enjoy!"

"Splendid, I was hoping for such a treat. Thank you very much for this afternoon, Miss Millie."

"So, Professor, we're all anxious to hear about how you came to be an archaeology professor!" All the other girls agreed in chorus. Laura sat chewing broccoli slowly, staring at the nasty calamari.

The Professor went on about how he didn't really care for such a topic in his early days, but how he slowly came to love it. He animatedly went on about his goals as a young student, yet how he ended up doing what he thought he'd never be able to do: teach at a level of higher education. It was all told modestly, hardly the truth, but they all accepted it at face value. The rest of the girls listened with rapt attention, but Laura felt herself getting sleepy, resorting to prodding shrimp tails with her fork.

"Do you have any skills, Professor? Do you sing?" one girl asked.

"Do you write poetry?"

"Can you bake?"

'_Are you a woman, is basically what they are asking,_' Laura thought, grimacing to herself.

He laughed. "Hardly, no no, I don't do much more than research, read, and write! That's my job as an academic, after all."

After exhausting all possible questions and going on about their own lives, the girls quieted down and began leaving their seats, joining Millie in the other room for dessert. Laura decided to make use of the rest of the shrimp.

"So quiet, Laura. Don't let the other girls make you feel that you can't ask or answer questions."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I don't have much to say, nothing was addressed to me anyhow."

"Well, then here's a question. How did you come to start playing piano? Just a fleeting interest that you acted on?"

"I would rather not talk about it. It's a stupid reason."

"I'm sure it's a fine reason, after all, you learned to play so well."

"Well, I-"

"You know there are desserts in the other room, if you want any, Professor," Millie informed casually, setting her plate full of cookies down on the table. "What are you chatting about, Laura?"

"Nothing important, really."

"If it's about your life, then certainly, that's the case!" She giggled. The girls echoed. Laura rolled her eyes. All on cue. "Only joking, Laura."

"Now, now, Miss Millie, that's no way to talk about your friend, even if you are doing it in fun."

"I'm only kidding. Laura's life is rather easy. She's an only child, she's given all she desires, and has been taught so many things. She has a lot of skills. She's actually quite good at mathematics and engineering." Laura looked up at Millie, trying to figure out what she was gaining by boosting her up like this. Was it only to hide her scorn and jealousy?

"You flatter me. My skills are nothing to write home about." Laura stood. "I'll get some dessert now."

She picked around the dessert table, settling for a caramel cookie. She glanced at a large clock hanging on the wall and sighed. It was already close to 8 o'clock. Returning to the dining room, she made her way to Millie, who was busy laughing at something the Professor had said. Laura was sure it wasn't meant to be reacted to with uncontrollable laughter.

"Thank you, Millie, for letting me come to your party. I hope it wasn't too much trouble inviting me."

"Oh Laura, it's always a pleasure," coming off of a rather girly giggle and waving her hand in front of her red face. "Are you leaving now?"

"I probably should. I'll see you on Monday. Give your parents my regards. They're busy talking at the moment."

"Oh yes yes, good night, Laura." She turned away and tried continuing to flirt with Professor Layton when he grabbed his overcoat. "Wait, are you leaving as well? It's early!"

"It's becoming dark, and as a gentleman, I can't let your classmate walk home on her own. I wouldn't be a gentleman if I let that happen, now would I?" He made his way to the door and grabbed the umbrella once again.

"No really, Professor, you needn't trouble over-" Laura started.

"It's no trouble at all. I do have a duty to protect my students as well. Miss Millie, I'll be back as soon as I ensure she's made it home. Please tell the Headmaster to wait for me. Or you could join us if you would like?"

Millie glared daggers at Laura, who smiled slyly back. Both knew what the situation meant: Millie would have given her left arm to walk alone with the Professor, but wouldn't dare venture in the rain, or walk for more than two blocks only to see to it that Laura got home.

'_Too bad, Millie…_'

"I'm sure Millie wouldn't mind walking with us," Laura started. "She'd love to make conversation and keep you company—"

"That is _quite_ alright, Laura, I'm sure you'll make it on your own, I'll call you in about 30 minutes to make sure you're snug and warm at home. See you soon, Professor." She opened the front door and allowed Laura and the Professor passage to the porch, curdling milk with her sideways sneer. Layton bid farewell with a tip of his hat, opened his umbrella, and started down the front walk at a brisk speed, Laura following along his side.

It was when they passed the final hedge of the Millers' grounds that Laura was hit with the discomfort of walking alone with someone, a situation she thoroughly despised. It required her to make conversation for the sake of being a good "host". It was to her benefit that the Professor offered his time, after all. How should I know what to talk about with….a professor, anyway? she thought. It wasn't as if she'd had any practice, and it was especially difficult since all he knew about was history and rocks. Now if it was all about hydraulics and calculus, maybe, just maybe, she'd have something to talk about.

She wrung her hands together.

"You didn't have to walk me back. I'm quite alright on my own. It's safe."

Professor Layton chuckled. "It's true these streets don't see much action, but I disagree that it's safe. It's never safe for a young lady to walk in the dark alone."

"Well, thank you anyway."

"My pleasure." He stopped talking for a moment. "If I may make an observation, it seems that there's some…discord between your classmates and yourself, Laura."

She watched her steps carefully, making sure not to step on any cracks. It was supposed to be a temporary obsession a month ago, but she found herself still avoiding crevices and unequal areas in the pavement. Maybe he hadn't noticed…

"Hmm," she muttered.

"Is that true?"

"I believe it's more of a clash of interests. I suppose that creates discord in the long run, though. This is a matter of several years' build up. All of their parents know mine, we were all raised knowing each other. Our personalities aren't quite agreeable however. Well," she paused, discerning whether it was appropriate to continue her tirade, "their personalities mesh. Mine doesn't. I'm not verbal enough, but it's not because I'm aloof. It's more because I am not interested. Genuinely."

'_Why am I saying all this?_'

"I see." He was quiet for several seconds. "How are the rest of your studies going?"

"Pardon?"

"Your other courses?"

"Oh yes, they are fine."

"Your favorite?"

"Is mathematics. I'm also going to start taking fourth-year engineering at Gressenheller next week. I finally got permission to join the class. That should be enjoyable."

Layton stared wide-eyed. "_Fourth_-year? But, you're a freshman!"

"Age and rank mean nothing," she said factually. She tapped her forehead. "It's all up here."

"True enough," he said, nodding, almost approvingly. "You're quite wise. You might teach your friends a thing or two."

Laura felt like she'd hit a breakthrough in the conversation department, and was in the mood to keep the ball rolling. Usually, she'd stop there and keep quiet, but the dam had been released. "They aren't my friends. And, truthfully, they are quite unteachable."

"No one's unteachable."

"Well, I'll leave the teaching to you, Professor. I'll just take the knowledge."

"Well, if you want it that way, you had better take a bit more from archaeology class. You scored 75% on the last test," he chortled, an air of sarcasm to his voice. He himself found it uncharacteristic.

"Frankly, not to be offensive, but I find no purpose in studying the past. What really is the goal of figuring out a puzzle that can't 100% ever be solved? You weren't there to know, so how do you _really_ know?"

"I go about it with half plain curiosity, the other half I'm scientifically driven. I suppose nothing's certain 100%, but we can get close enough. As for a goal, it's a thirst for knowledge, a hunger to know." He readjusted his hand on the umbrella. "I want to get in the shoes of those long past, put together where they were going. It could help us now."

"You can't just live and figure out life on your own?"

"Hmm, I suppose that's possible. But the more knowledge I'm equipped with, the better I can live. Don't you agree?"

Laura thought for a moment. "Suppose you search your whole life, just to live out that life better, and you still are left wondering, still missing something. Won't you feel you'd wasted something?"

He blinked. "I suppose I never thought of it that way."

"That's why I work with what's already there, tangible. I see my progress, I know I'm doing something. But, that's my approach. I suppose I shouldn't have said anything debatable."

"Laura, it _is_ okay to bring your opinion to the table. I never thought about your approach. Maybe you have something to teach, after all." He stopped walking. "And in truth, I really don't know where you live, so hopefully we haven't passed it."

Laura gasped. "Oh, yeah, I forgot all about what I was doing. It's just ahead around the corner." The words were spilling from her head to her mouth so quickly she didn't bother thinking about what was going on internally _or_ externally. She felt a similar twinge again in the depths of her body, something visceral, but it was almost an emptying feeling. She processed it quickly, realizing it might be attributed to…

'_There's _no_ way I'm enjoying a conversation about feelings! Yet…it's ending soon. I get to go home, and be within my own mental confines. I can do anything! It's freedom, but…_

…_I quite like having someone talk back._'

"Professor, I'd like to thank you again for walking me home. Would you like some tea for the walk home?"

"It's quite alright, I assure you, I'll be fine. Millie has enough to quench the thirst of an entire nation, I'm sure." Laura laughed quietly.

"I don't doubt that."

She stopped at the sidewalk outside her home. "I'm sorry if I said anything hurtful. I didn't mean to speak negatively about your area of expertise."

"It's not news to me, Laura. It's quite obvious you care nothing about the course."

She blinked, feeling slightly offended. "Well, I…"

"You excel in other areas, there's nothing wrong with that. And I can see you're quite secure in your realm of knowledge, and you're wise enough to stay there. I don't only care about my line of work. Don't you think I have colleagues in other academic areas?" He smiled, chuckling.

"Well, isn't it your job to prod me into trying new things?" she insisted, taken aback.

"I suppose, but it's not my job to change something meant to be. I know now you're wise enough beyond your years. You don't _need_ prodding. However," he readjusted his hat, running his arm across his brow, "you need to pass my course for credit. You might want to start coming to my office to discuss the material further, or I can find you a tutor if that's more comfortable."

She immediately hardened her expression. It felt more natural, after all. No more fuzzy conversation about life and deep meanings. "I suppose that's my only option at this point. I'll leave you to yourself now. Thank you again."

"Anytime, Laura. See you Monday."

Laura waved a quick and courteous goodbye, and slipped her key into the door lock. As soon as the door opened she was accosted by a flow of warm air.

"I see the heaters are at full throttle…" she whispered.

"Oh, Laura, is that you, darling?" Her mother appeared around the corner from the reading room. "You were gone for quite some time! You walked back alone, in this darkness? I almost called the Millers!"

"No, my professor walked me back after dinner. Millie invited, well, allowed me to stay for dinner." She placed her jacket and shoes at the entrance. "How is father?"

"Still moaning and groaning about his campaign workers. It's a miracle the place hasn't fallen down, what with all the yelling and bellowing he does!"

"I met a Mr. Arnold today."

"Oh, that old rascal. Friend of your father's, he is. I wonder how he recognized you at all, unless you didn't look as dreadful as you do now!" She fussed with Laura's frizzy hair, courtesy of the rain and humidity. "Tell me you looked more presentable at that party…"

"It rained. There's nothing I could do. It was only through dinner and-"

"_Only_? _Only_ through dinner! My word, you look as if you've swam and slept, all without so much as a brush through! Come, let me get my hairbrush."

"I'm fine on my own, I'm going to bed anyway. Mother, it's almost half past eight!" She ascended the stairs quickly, rushing to her room, ignoring her mother's pleading to fix her 'unruly mane'. Closing the door, she sighed. Silence. Only her own thoughts.

Laura's room was painted a light purple, originally to her chagrin, but she became accustomed to it, along with the white baseboards and window trim. It was close enough to blue that it was tolerable, she had decided. She appreciated her king size bed, something she'd begged for every birthday, and her desk, her godsend. It was where she did her homework, drew pictures, sat and stared, or just sat and thought for hours. She'd made a pastime of thinking, and did it often. A collection of books, manuals, and how-to companion guides took up half of a large build-in shelving unit along the wall opposite the door, the other half filled with knick-knacks, souvenirs, and various other paraphernalia. A deep window sill contained an assortment of plants and cacti, which she greatly loved taking care of. Her parents wouldn't allow her to keep a pet, but she hung a small bird house and feeder outside the window to attract her feathered friends for viewing and charting. The place was her self-made prison, as it appeared to those observing, but she loved it to the point of obsession. It was quiet, it was learning-oriented. It was paradise. There was no vanity, no make-up, no walk-in closet. There was raw knowledge, a raw sense of wonder and awe.

Stepping away from the door, she greeted her plants mentally and absent mindedly rearranged a couple of books that didn't really need rearranging. Then she opened a window to let the cool outdoor air in. She hated stuffy rooms.

"My head hurts."

She laid back on her bed, reprocessing the day from the moment she stepped foot in Millie's house. There was a strange feeling inside her, and she couldn't explain it. She had felt miserable initially upon arriving at the party, but there was something unfortunate about the day that made her worry, and at the same time, made her feel like everything useless and meaningless fell away. The similar feeling she felt when stumbling across something new and interesting, but difficult. It needed examining. It needed some time. But she felt as if she couldn't wait for the end result, whatever it was, whatever it could come to be. Yet this sensation was foreign. It was empty and filled to bursting at the same time.

Yes, it was indeed unfortunate, she decided.

What was that, back when the professor arrived at Millie's doorstep? Was she hoping he'd be the only one sensible enough to talk to, to make her feel more comfortable? Wasn't that _relying_ on him to fulfill some role?

"Nonsense," she spoke aloud to herself. "I could have gotten along just fine, walking about."

And what was that again, that fear of being heard? There was something carnal, something frightening in the way she'd been discovered playing the piano, a simultaneous wanting to be heard, yet an almost vengeful anger at being found. It was a strange thing…

'_He went quite overboard, about my music. Perhaps he is a music connoisseur as well… He seemed to be quite taken with the piano._' She looked at her fingers, stretching them out towards the ceiling, cracking her knuckles as she bent them. '_It's been a while since someone enjoyed it, for the sake of the sound itself_.'

Then she continued her thoughts up to dinner, the most discomforting part of all, but somehow, it wasn't as rotten as she'd first imagined it being. She often looked back on events and tried to place herself there, tried to decipher the feeling of the moment. There was nothing negative. She didn't have to struggle to make conversation; the professor made it for her. And again, after offering to walk her home, the struggle disappeared. Even more so, she felt almost eager, _yearning_ for that communication, although at the time, she didn't think much of it at all at the time. What _was_ that feeling? Was that seeking for attention?

"Ridiculous." That was a Millie thing.

Was that becoming…_needy_?

"Disgusting." Another Millie trait. She sat up and grabbed a nightgown from her dresser, proceeding to the bathroom. She dressed and began brushing her teeth, never minding her hair. She stared sullenly into the mirror in a daze; she hadn't even seen her reflection. Somehow, finally looking into her eyes she told herself something.

'_You actually enjoyed having a conversation. You do realize, there _are_ conversations in the mature, knowledgeable plane of existence… They don't only exist for the imbecilic. You are allowed to have friends, you know._'

"Laura Haris doesn't like having friends," she said, bored. "Friends…don't exist. There are only people that pretend." She cleaned her face up a bit, and turned out the bathroom lights. "Only actors. And they love their trade."

'_They all pretend. Always. Or they leave you. They leave and they don't come back. Ever. It's always goodbye. Always.'_

Turning out the lights, Laura listened outside her bedroom door a moment. There was never a phone ring, she was sure of it. She frowned, almost sad from self-pity.

"Millie wouldn't have called to check up anyway… I knew to expect that_._" She threw back the bed covers and plopped onto the mattress, staring into the darkness. Her eyes adjusted slowly.

'_But… He was nice. He offered to take you home. No one else bothered or cared. No one cared._

_He made conversation._

_He sought your song._

_He talked about stupid paintings, and about meaningless things._

_But he talked._

_He talked._

_It was annoying, but he talked. And gave the time of day._

_And he didn't sell your secret. Or make you play for everyone, like a circus act. Like cheap entertainment. Free music. He appreciated it for what it was, what it would stay as. No cheapening._'

Her brain hurt. She retraced the words said in the last steps leading up to her lawn.

'…_it's not my job to change things that are meant to be…_' Or something to that effect.

"Maybe it's not my job either. Maybe it's okay to…like having a friend." It was the same feeling when you have the word on the tip of your tongue, and you finally recall it. Or, you're on the verge of grasping a difficult topic, and you are hit with the trainwreck force of understanding. It's like a flood, an avalanche. There's no stopping it, it just is _there_.

Just like that, she felt a release, as if she'd known that all along, yet she just needed to say it out loud.

"Yes, it's okay, I think. Perhaps it's okay. Yes, I think it really is okay. I…think. Oh good _Lord_…" She sat up, quite dramatically, she admitted, but it seemed to be applicable, in her mind. "No, it's not okay. That is _not_ the feeling I want. It's not, no, I won't have it. I can't really be having that sort of feeling for…no, not for a professor. He's…_old_. And…ugh, I don't even know, this is too subjective." Is that what all those girls feel? Is that why they hound him? They like him, and they feel this way? She wondered.

"Noooo, no, it can't be. They are too simple, they feel something strange, something like infatuation, perhaps close to lust? I'm not sure, but there's no way that _this_ feeling is the same as _those_. No way. It's definitely something different, I'm not lumping myself in with those jokers… That twinge, that loss of conscientiousness, that…that lapse of thought upon walking home. No. That's not how others describe _liking_ someone. It's something pleasant, that twinge, but it's not _that_."

She laid her head back down on her pillow, feeling guilty, but she knew not why. Or, she tried believing that.

'_I like him, but there's no way I _like _like_ _Professor Layton. _

_That's definitely _**not**_ something that Laura Haris does._'

Oh my. I so sowwy. :]]]]]]] Reviews are always welcome. But! Critique my writing, not the content!


	9. CHAPTER 9: CIRCUS AT MIDNIGHT

**Well, shall I give you a break from the last ungodly long chapter? Okay. :] Here's a shorter one.**

**A quick note background note, since I don't believe I've mentioned it: the name of the college that Laura attends is called Grissom's College for Women. This indeed is a FICTIONAL school; I made it up! Don't go searching for it! In this universe, Grissom's is the female counterpart to the all-famous Gressenheller University mentioned in the video games. That is to say, Grissom's is completely affiliated with Gressenheller, but is its own entity, its own school, and is STRICTLY for young women. THESE PLACES DO EXIST. I GRADUATED FROM THE TOP US WOMEN'S COLLEGE. Well, so I was always told. Hee hee hee. What is "top" anyway?**

**Additionally, Grissom's is NOT located in London as Gressenheller is; rather, it is a short distance away (around a 30 minutes' drive). Let us recall that Layton is a visiting, assistant professor from the main university. I have placed him amidst a rabid, estrogen-based fan group that craves men. In a bad way. I am a cruel brat.**

**Anyway, just so you know, since the names will be mentioned briefly in this chapter. I didn't want confusion. I failed to mention them earlier, and I have to make up for it with a cruddy intro note. FAILURE. FAILURE. FAILURE.**

**...I really hate how the layout is on FF...**

**Merry Christmas!**

**-Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 9: CIRCUS AT MIDNIGHT**

The Professor had accidentally stepped in a puddle on his way back to the Miller home and felt rather silly entering the mansion in a dampened sock and loafer. Silly and uncomfortable. Even more silly and uncomfortable being greeted by none other than the princess of the place and her court, but that was ignorable. Barely.

"And now we are complete, Layton, come join us!" The Headmaster waved him over, his face a bright red. "This is a bit of brandy from the Millers' personal stock. It's _quite_ lovely." He poured a small glass and offered it to the Professor, who quickly turned it down.

"At this hour, Morris? Surely you must be getting home soon? If you don't mind, I'd rather have the tea everyone was talking about earlier."

"Ah yes, I've already downed three glasses of this stuff." He thrust a half spilled tea cup containing a deep red liquid. It almost matched his cheeks. "Sour, a little bitter on the finish. A bit like cranberries."

Layton tried a sip. "My, this is wonderful. Hmm, it's reminiscent of a tea I had back in my college days, but much less sweet. Hmm, actually, I know just the person who'd love this brew. What's the recipe?"

Millie grabbed a pencil and paper and began jotting down the recipe. "Oh, I'll get it for you, Professor. This is one of my favorites as well!" She sipped at a cup of her own, obviously not enjoying the taste. "Very bitter notes near the end, right?" She coughed twice, too slow to cover her mouth properly.

"Quite. You might share this with your classmate, Laura. She likes teas of this sort. However, she prefers them cold." He could tell Millie's expression changed at the mention of Laura's name, and he inwardly felt some sort of gratification from causing it.

'_Oh dear, that's not very kind of me…_'

The Headmaster pulled Layton aside by the arm of his jacket. "Speaking of Laura, I have some news about her for you." He made sure there were no followers from the 'Layton Legion' and continued with a large grin. "That girl is a right genius, if you haven't figured it out. Here, right in our school!"

The Professor made a waving motion, signaling him to keep his voice much quieter. The drink was beginning to alter the Headmaster's sense of hearing. "If you are able, you might want to be a tad bit quieter, Headmaster. Anyway, she seems to have several secrets I only just became aware of this afternoon. I admit, I don't know much about her."

"Well, she's terrifically advanced in mathematics, and excels in engineering. Quite the logical mind as well, able to function like a machine, that one. You might watch your back, Layton. You might find yourself usurped." he chuckled.

"She enjoys such subjects much more than my course, surely." He sipped his tea, smiling over the rim.

The Headmaster cleared his throat, checking for listeners-on. "Well, it seems she'll be taking engineering courses at the main University in London. Also seems that someone high up found out about it, and is granting her that scholarship I was telling you about weeks ago, the one typically dedicated to a Gressenheller student."

The Professor coughed. "The QwiqLogiq one? I thought that was reserved to someone who discovered some sort of an advance in engineering, and wouldn't she have had to have competed in the logic competition held last year as well? There were so many criteria and stipulations, she's merely a freshman! And, it provides a free ride, that scholarship. Aren't there others who are qualified?"

"Turns out, she _did_ compete, as a high school student. She wasn't given any recognition then because she wasn't of age; indeed, she was too young. But the judges knew she won, beat the college students at their own game, so to speak. And as far as the advance goes, you know those new shovels the boys at the excavation site in Dublin use?"

"You don't say…"

"She helped work on the hydraulics system. Quite spry, that one. Why she's continuing on at Grissom's is beyond me, I'm sure she'd have companies wanting her brains, they should be lined up left and right, at this rate!"

Layton shook his head. "She's not of the personality to take advantage of her skills, or let others do it either."

"Well I know, she's humble. She's a good girl, she has good parents. I know her parents." He shook his head. "But she dampers herself too much. She's suffering inside, somehow."

The Professor looked at the Headmaster with interest. "Suffering, Headmaster? That's quite an extreme term."

"Well, if you haven't noticed, she's a bit…off. One might say strange. I think some of that academic brain has taken up most of the social portion. Not that it matters. She'll find her niche in the world soon enough. What am I babbling on about?"

"I think your drink has caught up with you, Headmaster," Layton laughed. "So, as the recipient, she'll need to attend the award ceremony next month. Are you attending?"

"Ah yes, keen you are! But that is where you come in." He downed the rest of his glass in one gulp, laughing at the end of his poison. He eyed the inside of the empty cup, squarely staring down the dregs latching to the sides. "Shame!"

"Meaning? You aren't attending?"

"Well, turns out you're our most esteemed staff member! Looks as though your colleagues really see you as something quite more than an assistant professor, and as a real asset to Grissom's, as well as Gressenheller. You'll be receiving a hefty award as well. Not as much money involved for you as it is with Laura, but…" He laughed loudly, his tall frame quivering with delight. "Was I supposed to tell you about that yet? I'm not so sure…" Layton smiled.

"You're too kind, but do I really deserve such an award?"

"You do! After all, you'll be up for full-time professor soon anyway. Gressenheller would love to take you on as head of the archaeology department, you know that. You're too modest!"

"Sure but…"

"No buts! You keep this all in that big brain of yours, Hershel, and I'll get back to you about it on Monday, when I have a clearer head….I say, maybe I should call my wife to collect me. It's all a bit fuzzy. I say, what _is_ my phone number?"

The Professor ended the evening with making sure the Headmaster made it to his wife's car, amid several thank you's and apologies from Mrs. Ginlade ("What a rascal he is! Idiotic husband of mine! Thank you so much, Hershel, dear."). He wished the Miller family goodbye, to the disappointment of Millie and her friends, but much to the relief of himself. He was left to his thoughts again. A dangerous place, for it had many pathways, and no exit most of the time.

He found his car parked near the Miller's curb. Wiping the dew off of the side windows, he got inside and turned the key, starting up the familiar sputtering and hissing of the engine that accompanied the whir and whine of the muffler.

"Homeward, Laytonmobile."

He drove down the dark street, the streetlights leaving temporary jagged patterns across the dashboard as he drove by each one. The Headmaster's words stuck like glue to the inside of his ears.

'_She's suffering inside, somehow_.'

"I really don't know…if that was the brandy or not," he whispered, stopping at a red traffic light. "Why would he use the word 'suffering'? Surely…

'…_he can't be referring to her relationship with those girls. It's hardly anything worth calling real suffering, although it's troublesome, and quiet shameful._'

All he could think of was the look in his student's eyes when she was alone, quiet, and then how she'd change while speaking. It was almost instantaneous, and he was certain she didn't notice it. It was the same when he briefly caught her playing piano, as if it was the only way she knew how to communicate, pounding on black and white keys in a gray world. And then that expression, almost like fear, a deer in the headlights.

'_No, I don't play._'

"What a stupid comment, really," he grumbled, tapping on the steering wheel. "Obviously, there was sound coming out, she was playing the notes. That's playing!"

He arrived at his house, only a neighborhood away from the Miller's. It was a large, old home, owned by Grissom's College, and allowed for his use to live in while visiting from Gressenheller. It made matters more smooth, given Gressenheller was 30 minutes away, deep in the heart of London. He parked his car and walked up the walk past a large front pond and a quiet weeping willow. Its branches hung sadly, trying to brush the pond's dark glassy surface.

The front porch groaned in protest against his footfalls, as did the door against his turn on the handle, but both allowed him entrance. It really was an old house. The upper half of the walls in the front room were covered in an emerald green, fabric wallpaper, a dark stain on the wooden wainscoting of the bottom portion. The most of the walls were lined with bookshelves, and two older looking arm chairs with padding sat in the middle on top of an antique rug. The rest of the house was as creaky as the porch and front door. Layton thought it was really charming, and quite a steal to live in for free.

He sighed, tossing his coat and hat into an arm chair. He felt bothered, yet there was a giddiness to it. He wasn't sure if it was the honest joy at having such a bright student in his care, or rather his own award for his efforts, since the former was somehow making him frustrated without even being there.

'_Why is there such an animosity between her and seemingly everyone else_?' He didn't know why he cared, really. Was it his fostering instinct, the one that helped him strive to help all those willing to learn from him? One of his flock was being snubbed, tossed from the nest, and he didn't like it. It was actually the first time he really had to deal with something so tricky. Maybe it was just women, he thought. Perhaps they weren't so simple to figure out after all, as he'd been warned.

Or maybe it was because it was a puzzle. The whole thing. A giant, messy puzzle that was deeper than he thought. Was he being too objective about the whole thing? Maybe Laura had a point on disliking 'subjective' matters…

He changed into pajamas and washed up for bed, continuing to think up until around 12 o'clock.

"Sunday already," he grunted, trying to find some peace in closing his eyes, face against his cool pillow. "It'll all start back up tomorrow. I really wonder what she thinks about, coming to school and having such a reputation." Surely it was the huge mental gap between her and her classmates that was causing the rift, but it still didn't warrant the behavior she put up with. He started feeling pity, the more he thought about it.

'_Quite reminds me of myself…_ _Maybe that's why I like the spark that lights up when she realizes she _can _talk about things other than inanities like make-up, money, and other such poppycock_. _Are girls really so petty? No wonder she's so lonely. I quite…understand_.

_It's unfortunate, but it's a puzzle that needs solving._'

He laughed to himself, turning over in his bed, and pulled the blankets closer to his chin, mentally repressing a few emotional anomalies that he wouldn't even allow for discussion in his own mind.


	10. CHAPTER 10: A REASON FOR RUGBY

**Just so you know: I know nothing about rugby, and I know nothing about rugby seasons in England (I really don't know much about England at all). I don't know if it's played year round, or what. If my accuracy is terrible, I apologize. But in this story, it's in the fall, and it's in October. Whoot.**

**CHAPTER 10: A REASON FOR RUGBY**

Laura returned to school the following Monday with a slight cold, which she attributed to the walk home from Millie's house. The whole thing still made her irritated, so she tried not to think about it much.

She resolved to return to books and studies as if the whole weekend had been without incident. No mention of the party, no more thinking too deeply. It was enough that she had to endure more talking about rocks and dead things. However, fate didn't much care for her opinions.

"My party was the biggest success this semester," Millie chimed down the hall amongst a clambering group of girls, many of whom were joining her for archaeology. "And, as many of you saw, I was the prime conversation partner of the Professor the _entire_ evening. Seemed that he quite enjoyed himself. I think he's going to visit for tea daily now, he was so enchanted by it all."

"Enchanted? Are you serious?" Clara shouted, half upset.

"Well, I mean, that is, as soon as I sort out the details. I'll let you in on it all later, dear, don't worry. You'll be the first to know." She passed Laura, who was intentionally checking through her messenger bag to avoid eye contact. "And you'll be the last!"

Laura looked up." Last about what?"

"Seems you _are_ listening, so listen to this: don't be playing any more tricks like you did after my party. A seemingly innocent walk home with Hershel does not sit well with me, Laura Haris. After all, there's no reason for anyone to fall for an aloof brainiac like you, so you wouldn't want to hurt yourself. Or, perhaps, waste time. He has better things to do than protect you from all the bad guys that prowl about." She scoffed and snorted, triggering a small laugh from the girls at her sides. "What a laugh!"

"That was purely of his own choosing. I barely talked to him; he offered on his own accord. Speaking of tricks, like I said to one of you ladies before: if you're so eager to talk with him, go to his office and maybe learn something." She decided to make them all a bit more bitter than they naturally were every moment of the day. "As I will be doing for the next few days. I want to improve my grades, so I've already scheduled private sessions after classes to work on the material."

She almost busted out laughing from the look of horror on Millie's face, and actually snorted when the rest of the girls turned slowly to view Millie's reaction.

"You're…private lessons? _Daily_?" Millie sputtered.

"See you in archaeology." She left them all to process her words on their own, smiling as she headed to the classroom.

'_Disgusting_.'

The days proceeded as she truthfully had said, making her way to Layton's office after her classes were finished around lunch time. She would eat her food (corned beef sandwich, as always), pack away her books and anything else she was looking over during lunch, and then walk slowly to the office, hoping he'd have left a letter stating he was at a meeting or couldn't make it that day. Each day was a disappointment, in that regard.

She would knock softly, wait for permission from within, and then enter the warm office. The smell of a brew of tea always immediately wrapped up her senses, sticking to her clothing and skin; she often smelled of cinnamon and strong herbs upon leaving. Layton would smile, grab the text book from class, go off on some tangent to which Laura would respond and then shortly after request that they begin. A quick apology later, they'd review the course work from class by means of discussion, which turned out to be a lecture on the part of the Professor. Laura spent more time finding pictures in the wood grain of the desk as he'd pepper his lectures with impertinent information that she really had no use for. But she felt bad, so she'd occasionally come up with a question that made her seem as if she was paying attention. Another tangent, another question: formula for success. They'd end an hour later with a cup of tea, courtesy of the Professor, and often he'd ask how her day was going. And it was always one of two answers: "As good as yesterday," or "I'm living," accompanied by a shrug and an attempt at a convincing smile.

One particular day, however, her knock at the door was unheard, as there was a gathering of girls outside the office, Millie at the front of the congregation.

"Oh, Laura, going in for your tutoring session? What do you learn, I suppose? Hopefully nothing _naughty_ that would put a stain on your family name!"

Laura stared at her, already bored. "You're too much, Millie. Yes, really, that's what I do. I'm secretly wooing the Professor. As if I have the energy to bother. And anyway, isn't that what you're supposed to be doing?" Millie squinted her eyes. "You'd better catch up, Millie. I might pounce when you're least expecting it." She smirked, matching Millie's suspicious eyes by reducing hers to slits. "Anyway, why are you all out here?"

"Well, today's puzzle is too hard," Millie said, as if at a protest march. She put her hands on her hips indignantly. "And it's quite stupid, as none of us can figure it out. Who makes and gives out a puzzle that _no one_ can solve? Even Amy can't do it, and she's been solving them correctly for the past two weeks." Amy nodded her head confidently.

"I see. Well, is he in his office?"

"Not that we can see. We've knocked for around 15 minutes, and no sound."

Laura tried to peer through the frosted glass of the office door when Professor Layton came quickly around the corner.

"Ladies, ladies, I am so sorry. I had a phone call in the staff lounge and I lost track of the time." He stopped to catch his breath. "Is there something I can help you all with?"

"It's the puzzle, Professor," Clara said, standing at Millie's side. "It's much too difficult. None of us can solve it!"

He gave a few quick nods. "Ah, yes. That one is tricky. Well, I'll write out a hint on paper and let you all in on it, but I have a previous engagement that I must take care of first. We can discuss it tomorrow in class as well. Don't lose sleep over it. I was loath to give it to you anyway but…"

He opened the office door and tossed around some folders, finally finding his notepad. The girls each tried to get her head in the doorway, catching a glimpse of the study. Apparently, none of them had ever bothered to make time for office hours, something Laura thought would be the most obvious benefit to girls like Millie. After writing a couple copies out, he handed the quickly scrawled puzzle hints to the girls in the front.

"That should assist you well. Share those copies with each other. Any troubles, bring them to class tomorrow morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a make-up session with Miss Laura." He caught Laura's eye and motioned her inside. He closed the door and began packing his bag. Laura raised her eyebrows.

"Um, was I not supposed to come today?"

"No, no, you're right in coming by. However, I just became aware of an event today that I'd quite like to attend." He removed his cream sweater and pulled on a rugby shirt over his oxford.

"Well, then should I leave?" she asked, getting slightly perturbed at the lack of information.

"On the contrary. Laura, do you have a warmer coat?"

"I do. Professor, are we reviewing outdoors?"

"In a way, yes. Laura, would you like to go to a rugby game? The Headmaster was going to attend, and I was just now informed, but I felt bad cancelling your tutor session on such short notice. I can lecture on the way over."

"The way over?"

"Oh, it's at Gressenheller University. The boys over there are playing a scrimmage match and I wanted to see how they are fairing this season. Eh heh heh." He checked a calendar schedule on the wall. "Oh yes, this will be quite a match-up. Oh, anyway, the Headmaster would be driving us, if you don't mind. If you would like to go home, you are most welcome." He smiled. Again. It was starting to become something that Laura found herself unable to argue with. She didn't know if it was because it was so annoyingly constant that she was just accepting it to make it go away or…if it was bewitching.

'_Black magic…_'

"I'll go. I've never seen a rugby match before." She pulled her jacket out of her bag.

"Truthfully? Oh, it's a very enjoyable time. Shall I explain the way it's played?"

She didn't have a chance to answer before the Professor began a long explanation of how the game started, the history of the rules, and how he came to be a fan of it. He looked out the door to see if any girls were still hanging about with questions, and when he saw no one about, locked his office door behind them and started off down the empty hall, his voice reverberating off the walls. His echo had a nice sound to it; it wasn't shrill or harsh as some voices were when they bounced off the walls. After all, too many whiny girls can cause quite a loud whirlwind of an echo.

Laura felt somewhat important, or maybe special, walking down the hall to the teacher's entrance and exit. Professor Layton continued his lecture on rugby, animatedly using his hands to reenact motions within the game. Although she knew nothing about it, his story was somehow compelling, as if she was a part of the history of the sport. She decided it was much better to learn histories and archaeology one-on-one rather than falling asleep on a textbook or jotting down notes, lost in the sea of equally bored students.

He stopped in front of the Headmaster's door.

"Seems he's already outside."

They walked out to the parking lot, the Headmaster spotting Layton and waving.

"There you are! Thought I'd lost you to work, yet again." He laughed, slapping the Professor on the back when he approached the car. "Brought a guest, I see! None other than Miss Haris."

Laura shook his hand and smiled. "How are you, Headmaster Ginlade?"

"Quite well! So I see Professor Layton has backed out of his teaching duties, is that right, Miss Haris? Ahha!"

Layton chuckled. "I told her I'd lecture on the way there."

"Like hell you are, Layton! I'm talking rugby in my car. Rugby, and nothing else. Hop in, Laura. It's unlocked. Excuse my language. I might slip."

It was as Laura knew it would be: she took her spot in the back, behind Layton in the passenger, and stared out the window, listening slightly to the two men go back and forth about rugby related things. There was no semblance of archaeology, which Laura was grateful for, but at the same time, she felt nervous. She had nothing to talk about, and felt like a third wheel.

Professor Layton turned his head slightly toward the back. "Are you doing alright, Laura?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"We're just about there. Make sure your coat is on. It'll be cold out there after a few minutes."

She doubted it. It felt like a sauna in the Headmaster's car. She silently disliked leather seats, as hers was making her sweat.

But after standing in the middle of a grassy field for five minutes, she regretted leaving her jacket in the car.

'_I'm such an idiot! I should have just brought it, regardless of whether I'm usually warm or not. Blast it all…._'

"Laura, I thought you had a coat!"

"Well, I'm usually warm so I left it in the car. And I was sweating buckets in there, so I wasn't too keen on carrying the thing around…" She rubbed her hands together quickly, not too happy with the amount of heat (or lack thereof) she was getting from the friction. "It's my hands and ears really."

The Professor removed a sweater he'd put on over his layered shirts, and handed it to her. "Here, that should help a little."

"No really, I am fine. I can manage." Although she desperately wanted to bury her cold hands into it, her irrationalities got the better of her. She hated others' garments. She knew dead skin cells and sweat somehow wove their way into the fabric of clothing; she couldn't prove it, but somehow….

"I really do insist you wear it. You've been shivering non-stop for the past five minutes. And here." He took off his hat to remove a pair of earmuffs that Laura hadn't even seen him put on. She then realized she'd never seen the Professor without a hat. Admittedly, she always thought him bald, even though she had no reason to think so, but instead he sported a normal amount of soft brown hair. She felt the pair of earmuffs reach her fingers as she attempted to hide the fact she'd been staring while thinking.

"Well…" She looked at the muffs apprehensively, up at Layton, then back at the earmuffs again. "I…er…"

He looked at her, puzzled. "Is something wrong?"

"This is going to sound either really snooty, or really strange—or both—but…I have a sort of complex when it comes to wearing other people's clothes and accessories." She fingered the earmuff band delicately. The Professor laughed.

"You could have said so in the first place. Come, I'll get your coat from the car."

"But, I could forego my idiosyncrasies for the time being and use these." She slipped the sweater over her head and pulled the muffs over her ears, cringing.

"Are…you sure?" He laughed softly.

"It's much better than making you go all the way back to the parking lot because of my own stupidity."

"As you wish. You seem to always put your preferences aside for the sake of the other person. When do you think of yourself?"

Laura thought a moment. Perhaps it was only half true, but she did always find herself being the subservient one. It wasn't because she was a stepping stone, she just felt others shouldn't have to suffer because of herself.

"I think of myself when I most need it, I suppose." Crossing her arms, she stared out across the field, watching several large college-age boys get ready to start their match. She had no idea what was ensuing, but it seemed like a waste of time. The Professor and Headmaster were getting something out of it however, the former smiling all the while and muttering things under his breath while the latter roared and punched the air multiple times. Maybe it was just men, Laura wondered.

She kept smelling something new about her, something fresh continuing to fill her nostrils as the breeze swept past. Then she realized it was the sweater. It had the Professor's scent on it. Instantaneously she felt the same twinge that she experienced back at Millie's party, but this time it was cemented into her brain by the sense of smell. Each time she breathed in deeper, the same intoxicating sensation filled her brain, creeping along her limbs. She wrapped her arms tighter about her.

'_What a comforting feeling. It's like there's no wrong in the world!_'

She felt herself smiling stupidly, but not before Layton noticed.

"Enjoying yourself, Laura? I suppose it might be difficult for you to understand, not seeing a game before."

She looked over at him, carefully trying to discern whether he saw her looking like a loon. Perhaps he thought she was merely watching the game. "Well, it's quite hilarious."

"H-hilarious?"

"Oh yes. It's quite silly, watching these boys slam into each other, especially with little to no protection. That in itself makes no sense."

"When you put it that way, yes, it's really no fun to watch. But the strategy, the battles being waged. That's the fun in it!" He eyed her carefully. "I'm surprised you never watched a rugby game. Does your father watch sports?"

She shook her head. "Not particularly. He occasionally checks in on what's going on in the soccer world."

"Any brothers?"

She watched a pair of players slam into each other, the force sending both of them flying backward, one sporting a broken nose, the other a twisted arm, neither of which phased Laura but caused the audience to audibly cringe and groan with sympathy pains. She looked past the physical wounds and only saw a blur. Layton moved his head to look at her straight on.

"Laura? Are you okay?"

She blinked. "Oh, oh yes. You asked if I have brothers. I have no siblings. It's only been me for… It's only been me." A familiar burning filled her nostrils under the bridge of her nose. She knew how to stop it when she was alone, but in a public setting? She looked at the sky.

The Professor put a hand on her shoulder. "Is there something the matter? You're…you seem to be behaving oddly."

"I'm just having a bad day, that's all. Is there a restroom nearby?"

She didn't listen to his answer, and instead started walking away from the cacophony of the game, not caring where she was heading. There'd be a private place somewhere…

A hand was placed on the middle of her back and gently turned her towards a large brick building with matching large doors. She glanced to her side and caught the dark green and yellow of a familiar rugby shirt before pressing through the entrance of the place. Several students dressed warmly in scarves and wool hats much like the Professor's walked past.

"The women's washroom is just over there," Layton said quietly, pointing toward a dimly lit corner. Laura nodded and raced quickly to the door, pushing into it and rushing to her own stall.

She had blown it. She revealed another secret. He could sense it, he knew. Something was amiss. And he sensed it.

'_Damn him, damn him to hell! He's always around, I don't want him knowing _anything!_ Why him of all people? Him and that smile, that stupid smile, that stupid smile that just never goes away. He's always so happy, how can he be so happy? I hate it!_'

Laura clenched her hands into fists, her nails threatening to cut into her dry palms. She felt her skin stretched across her white knuckles, her biceps straining. No tears, she told herself. None. No tears, no more.

'_You promised yourself! You promised!_'

"You promised!" she spat, her eyes boring holes into the brick wall. Giving in, she placed her palms to her eyes, trying to push back in the tears. Her breathing became ragged until the door to the bathroom opened and someone else took the stall next to hers. She rubbed her eyes, walked out and to the mirror. She'd just look at the floor the entire time, she decided. He won't notice…

"Is there something bothering you, Laura?" Professor Layton asked as soon as she'd returned to the middle of the wide corridor outside the bathroom. The tone in his voice was urgent and tense, very much different than the usual soft and cheery one. She looked at the floor and shook her head, folding her hands and holding her arms loose in front of her.

"Let's return to the field." She made towards the door but was stopped abruptly, the Professor's hands on her shoulders.

"Laura, you do realize that I have to keep anything you tell me confidential. It's all private. You can tell me if something's going on. I won't stand to see a student suffering." He used the word the Headmaster had uttered, still confused about why he'd used such a word.

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll cry."

"Well, I-that's-I didn't expect that…"

"I'm sure that'd make you very uncomfortable, so…I have to hold it in forever. Because…because no one will…" She sniffed loudly, trying to prevent any mucus from leaving her nose. Putting her nose to her hand, she contorted her face, doing her best to hold back any unruly tears.

"Come."

She didn't know how long it had taken to walk all across campus, through several corridors and buildings, nor did she care. She hadn't paid attention to directions or routes; she merely let her teacher lead her wherever it was they were heading. She sobbed uncontrollably into her hands, the arms of the sweater reaching several inches past the ends of her own arms. The cuffs of the garment were soaked. She'd have to apologize and clean it.

"Take a seat."

Laura sat in a rather plush arm chair at the direction of the Professor. She looked around at the room they had entered. It was much bigger than the office at Grissom's, but she recognized it right away as Professor Layton's Gressenheller office. The sheer amount of books (on the shelves as well as scattered about the room), the placement of ancient artifacts, and the smell of cinnamon and herbs filled the air. It had to be his office.

Layton handed her a handkerchief, smiling, but with an air of concern.

"Is there anything you'd like to confide in me, Laura?" he asked quietly. The office door opened slowly, a short elderly woman with a kind face walking through.

"Here is your tea, Professor." She handed him a tray, smiling at Laura. "Poor dear. I made some hot for you also, Professor."

"Thank you, my dear Rosa." Rosa left, closing the door behind her. "Here, Laura. I had her make you some cold tea."

Laura took the cup carefully after pushing the sleeves of the sweater up her arms. "Thank you." She stared into it, wishing she didn't look so forlorn. Layton pulled up a similar chair to what Laura was sitting in and sat directly across from her.

"Now, then, I'd like for you to let me in on what is going on in your life, if you would. I know that sounds a bit nosey, but you haven't been yourself lately. In class, in my office. I'd like to know if there is something I could do to help."

She shook her head. "It's nothing. It's only…my own personal demons."

"What demons, Laura? Is something happening at school? Are you being threatened?"

"No."

"Are your classmates bullying you?"

She couldn't take the interrogation. It wasn't something she cared to be doing at the moment. She looked at him with an angry determination.

"You know, I really don't see why you even care. This is college, not some elementary school counseling session. I don't see why you bother to have me come to your office and learn the material over again, I don't see why you are asking me such questions right now. It's really none of your concern!

"Well, you are right in saying-"

"What are you trying to gain?"

"I merely wanted to-"

"Look, if you are going to use me like everyone else tries to, then you have another thing coming. I'm not getting perfect grades just to make the college look good, I'm not improving my archaeology grade just to make _you_ look good. I'm done being you educators' billboard poster child for unheard of talent. I'm done hearing all of that."

"Laura, I'm not trying to gain anything."

"I just want to be left _alone_!" she shouted, grinding her knuckles into the seat cushion. "Can you understand that, Professor?"

He sat in his seat, looking into her eyes, trying to decipher what was going on in her head.

'_I'll just prod a bit more. Even if I regret it, I'll also regret never trying, never knowing._'

"I can understand that, Laura. But I can only understand completely if you work with me here. I'm trying to get a better grasp on the situation. Obviously, something isn't right. I want to know what it is."

"To gain something?"

"No. No gain at all."

"Then what's the reason?" She crossed her arms, wide brown eyes drilling into the Professor's astonished ones.

"Honestly, Laura, what do you think I could gain? I'm only trying to help you. It's…it's this problem I have, with trying to solve the world's problems. I come across things that _aren't_ right, and, well, I want to make them right." He sighed. "That's my honest answer. As my student, I want you to grow and learn. And be happy."

She sat quietly for a moment, analyzing his reasoning. Her expression softened.

"I'm very sorry, Professor. I'm just used to everyone trying to get something out of me, I figured you'd be doing the same thing. I honestly have never been asked to share my thoughts before."

"Laura, you're always welcome to give your thoughts and opinions."

"No, you don't understand. There's quite a bit you don't understand. But for the sake of time, I'll let you know why I seemed to…break down back there, at the field. Which, by the way, I'm very sorry you are missing your rugby game."

Layton laughed heartily, startling his student. "I forgot why I was even back here at Gressenheller in the first place. Go ahead."

Laura took a huge, cleansing breath, her eyes filling with tears. "I apologize, I have a problem with crying, with showing emotions."

"No more apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Nodding, she smiled. "I actually have been to a rugby game before. I lied. I'm sor-I mean-well, I _am_ sorry."

Layton nodded. "I could tell as you watched. Your body language spoke volumes. I could tell you were anticipating certain movements on the part of the players."

"I don't like rugby. I wasn't going to go with you, and I wanted to say no to your offer, but… Internally, I was fighting myself."

"You didn't have to say yes. My feelings wouldn't have been hurt."

"It's not that."

"Then…?"

She closed her eyes. "My brother, Liam, loved rugby. He didn't know all the rules, but he loved it. He died when he was five. It was five years ago, September 28th."

The Professor's eyes widened considerably, his mouth slowly falling open. "I…I never knew…"

"No one does. I don't tell anybody. My parents don't even talk about it, ever. It's as if he never existed. He had leukemia. There's nothing they could do."

"Oh my God, Laura, I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. "There's no sense in being sorry. The most you can do would be just to understand that he was everything to me, my brother. We were seven years apart, but we did everything together. He loved rugby, and he loved the piano. He's even buried with a rugby ball and his favorite song on sheet music. I'd throw him the ball outside, and he'd listen to me play piano inside. We never left each other's sides. We were like twins, but seven years apart. Although he was young," she wiped her eyes with the sweater sleeve, "he was the only person who ever understood anything going on. He was pure innocence, raw kindness. He was brutally honest, but never hurt feelings. He was very wise for a young boy. I loved my brother dearly."

Layton nodded, his eyes somber. "I can see why," he said softly.

Laura sniffed, her voice breaking. "Ever since he died, I never felt loved again. I never had friends, and my parents are nothing more than slight caretakers. They provide no support for me, nothing. All they provide for is what they think is best, such as financially for my education."

"I'm sure they do what they think is the best for their child, Laura," the Professor tried to convince her.

"If you say so. Regardless, I can never make friends. I know I'm very different and awkward. It doesn't bother me any, but I'll never get over the fact that my best friend will never come back. Ever since he died, it's been a daily battle against the world. I'm again on my own." She cleared her throat, attempting a smile. She looked up at her teacher. "That's why I blurted out in the hallway a couple of weeks ago, and why I felt ill."

He gasped. "Oh yes, that was the 28th wasn't it… Oh, I'm so sorry, Laura. I had no idea."

"I have been like this for the past five years. For about two months after the anniversary of his death each year, I can't seem to shake any negativity off. I like being alone, but when I think about when he was here, and I compare, I get very lonely. I…I really don't know why I'm telling you all of this. I've never told anyone any of this."

He chuckled and put a strong hand on her shoulder. This time, it felt warm and reassuring. "You might struggle later with whether or not you should have told me anything, but I honestly and whole-heartedly believe it was for the best, meant to be, if you will."

She nodded, grinning. "Yeah, I probably will beat myself up over it later." She managed a laugh, genuine as the Professor saw it. He felt his face get warm for some reason, and attributed it to holding a cup of hot tea.

"Well, I think I should go and explain to the Headmaster why I left in such a hurry. I'll just say you needed to use the restroom and then I got to talking about the exhibits in the corridors. He'll understand." He stood up, setting his tea on his desk. "Poor, Rosa. I asked her for tea, but it'll have to wait until later."

Laura took two swigs from her cup and sat it on the desk as well. Standing, she noticed the dark wet stains on the sweater. "Oh, um…I'm sorry for the sweater, Professor. I cried a bit into it…"

"It's quite alright. It's merely my favorite sweater that really shouldn't be getting damp as it's dry-clean only."

She took in a sharp breath, worried. "I-I'm so sorry! Oh, now I wish I had _never_ put it on! I knew I should have-" She stopped as he laughed loudly.

"Just a joke. It's pure cotton; it's perfectly fine. You can return it to me tomorrow morning," he said with a wink. Laura felt her face redden with embarrassment. "Well, shall we return to the field?"

As they were walking down the corridor, he made a mental connection.

"Is the reason you don't like to play the piano because of your brother?" Laura nodded reluctantly.

"After he died, all I did was play. It was like he was still there. I did that for a year. Often I played for over 24 hours straight. Since then, my father forbade me to ever touch the instrument again. Since, I've both yearned for and despised the piano. I play on it once in a great while, but I never am allowed to play on it as often as I used to. My father said it's detrimental to my health."

Layton hummed in acknowledgement. "Do you think you could honor your brother by allowing others to enjoy your music as he did, instead of keeping it to yourself?"

The words hit Laura's ears with deafening logic. "I guess I never thought of it that way."

"I honestly do not think your brother would agree with you keeping your talent to yourself. After all, you chose to share it with him, because he loved it. How are you so sure no one else would love it in the same way?"

"I'm scared someone will want it for selfish reasons, as my father has in the past. I don't want to make profits off of my talents."

He nodded. "Maybe so, but there will be others who will cherish the sound for the sake of itself, and in admiration of your skill."

Shaking her head, she laughed half-heartedly. "I don't know why, or who would do such a thing."

The Professor opened the door that led to the outside. The players were visible on the field, ready to play for the final 10 minutes. "Well, myself of course!"

Laura looked at him, confused. "What?"

"I would do such a thing. I've never heard a better pianist. Truly love at first listen. I think you have monstrous talent. And I think you should embrace that, and let others embrace it as well. So to answer your question," he tipped his hat forward, "I'd do such a thing, and love your music."

The game got closer as Laura walked alongside her professor, following him right up to the sidelines. The Professor began chatting with the Headmaster as if nothing had ever happened, as if he never left his side. Headmaster Ginlade obviously had been yelling, for his voice was hoarse. He croaked something about running to get a drink and hurried away, his cape flowing behind him. Layton shook his head. He looked over at Laura until she glanced up at him. He smiled.

Amidst the screaming fans, raucous cheerleaders, and all the other typical sounds present at sporting events, it was a smile that spoke louder than any words could have. Laura looked at him quizzically, at first giving him an awkward grin, then returning a silent smile, feeling the all too familiar twinge inside her.

But that was one secret she definitely wasn't sharing.


	11. CHAPTER 11: WINNERS AND LOSERS

**Oh my, here's a short one. Sorta. :[[[[[**

**The next chapter will be long. It's very long. Maybe unnecessarily long, but it's long. Going on 10,000 words. I rock the Word Doc. Bro. Something. I cry. :[[[**

**Anyway, a bit more into the minds of our favorite Professor, and Laura as well. OH MY, SOMEONE IS FEELING WONKY. And it's not just me.**

**Okay, okay. I've been too hassled. I'm losing it.**

**DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW. I might….appreciate more feedback. Maybe my characters and story are too lame. D:**

**Not looking forward to the New Year,**

**CHAPTER 11: WINNERS AND LOSERS**

The car ride was a blur in Laura's mind, most of it only a bitter memory of it being overly stuffy and loud, courtesy of the Headmaster. She swore he must be reptilian to require the temperature at such a high degree.

"Did you see that Seamus? He runs like a cheetah! There's no question, he's the most valuable player on that bloody team," he roared, slapping the steering wheel, and causing the car to jolt slightly. "And how about that Johnston fellow? Physics major. Right genius, and athletic. He's pure gold. And did you see…"

She kept looking outside of the window, hoping she wouldn't develop a headache from car sickness. Her stomach already felt ill, mostly from mental duress. She leaned her head against the window, hoping the cool glass would help even a little. Layton cleared his throat.

"Laura, would you like the Headmaster to drive you back home? It's just begun to rain a little."

"That would be very kind of you. If you don't mind, it's just past Millicent Miller's house, if you recall from the party."

The Headmaster nodded. "Oh yes, that's just beyond this way…"

Laura directed him to the end of the block. "You can stop here, Headmaster, I can walk down to my house. It's a bit of a hassle to exit the neighborhood if you go down my street. Just continue straight and you'll find yourself back to Main Street after a few blocks."

"Are you sure you'll be fine in the rain? It's rather misty," Professor Layton protested.

"It's only water. I don't think I'm a witch," she said with a small smile. The Headmaster laughed.

"I hope you enjoyed the game, Miss Haris. Good luck with your studies!"

"Thank you for the ride. Good evening, Headmaster, Professor." She gave a weak wave, turning around and heading off towards her house in a hurry. She didn't want to have anyone else worrying over her or asking any more questions.

She unlocked the door and scurried inside, leaving her damp coat and bag at the door. She turned an ear down the hallway as she removed the clasps on her dress shoes, listening to her father's loud voice echo throughout the house.

"It's just a miracle it turned out to be as good as it is!" he bellowed, appearing from the kitchen at the end of the hallway. He was noticeably agitated. "Laura! Where have you been?"

"I had to review material with my archaeology professor," she said, although noting several omissions of the truth. "The Headmaster dropped me off since it was raining."

"You do know the time, don't you? Studying until 3 in the afternoon? You shouldn't be relying on them regarding anything outside education. Next time, walk in the rain if you have to! You have an umbrella." He straightened himself to his full height, pompously throwing out his chest. "Did your educators mention anything to you today?" he asked stern faced. "Anything unusual going on?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "No, nothing at all. Why?" Surely he couldn't have known she'd pretty much broke down and bawled just half an hour prior. That was absolutely unusual according to her standards.

"Seems that one of my campaign workers, a Professor at Gressenheller, is in on a little gossip. Word is that one of their finest students was passed up for a very prestigious engineering scholarship. Any word on that?"

"Nothing. Oh, you mean that QwiqLogiq or whatsit? We were told about _that_ one, but I didn't know the winner was announced." She walked into the reading room, unwilling to continue the conversation. She was sure he would start in on how to prepare to win it when she was further along in college. If she learned anything from her father, it was to avoid getting heavily involved in a topic that had any semblance of competition within it. And, any semblance of gossip, which her father loved.

"Well, someone got wind of the winner, and it's _not_ a Gressenheller student! How is this possible? It's sponsored by a Gressenheller graduate, an alumnus! His own son attends the University!"

She shrugged, walking to the wall piano that stood against the far end of the room. "Maybe it's all hearsay. I don't know when the actual winner is even announced."

'_And I despise gossip….who cares who won, honestly!_'

Derek Haris grumbled to himself. "Amazing how uninformed you are and always seem to be. How are your courses? Your mother tells me that you have a low B in archaeology. How can you be struggling with a course about prehistoric concrete?"

"That's why I've been going to review the material with the professor," she said, her voice rising slightly, but not enough for her father to retort at it. "I'll bring my grade back up before the end of semester." She tapped on the lid over the piano keys, decidedly finished with the talk. "Father, can I play the piano for a few minutes? I won't be more than a quarter of an hour."

"I'm setting a timer. You know what Dr. Aman said about the piano being a trigger." He stomped off, and sure enough set a timer with several audible beeps from the other room.

Trigger, she repeated in her mind. It was some shiny brand new theory that the lousy therapist was promoting, that children struggling with the death of a sibling can obsess over something the deceased found dear. That 'something' was the trigger, and aptly named as it triggered unsafe emotions and obsessions in the living siblings. True enough, Laura admitted she went overboard when Liam first died, but after five years? She wasn't going to play more than an hour at a time at the very most. After all, she was used to restrictions; she'd kept her innermost thoughts and feelings hidden inside for five long years.

She picked out three songs that she loved most, and decided there would be enough time to record them all, albeit with mistakes, to a cassette tape. Pulling out the old recording device, she sat down on the bench and breathed in and out several times to gather composure.

Smiling, she was thankful for the 15 minutes, subconsciously dreading the shrill beep of the timer.

The following day, Laura walked into archaeology class a mess. The wind had inverted her umbrella while walking and her left boot's sole decided to start separating from the rest of the shoe, allowing several of the puddles she stepped in to flood inside. Her magnetism to irony and bad luck no longer fazed her as it happened quite often—maybe she'd contracted a negative gene or something?—but it was _still_ slightly bothersome. She wished it was good weather while walking to school instead of beautiful weather for unnecessary tea parties slash brunches.

Professor Layton greeted her half concerned, half amused. "Umbrella trouble?"

'_As if that weren't obvious, you blockhead!_' she thought, raising her eyebrows as a confirmation. She stared at her drenched sweater dress and flumped down in a desk next to Millie's.

"Oh, Laura. It would have been a lovely outfit, had you used your umbrella properly," she chortled.

"Too bad I couldn't find the one you loaned me before, right?" She shook her head in disbelief, searching her bag for a dry handkerchief.

The Professor didn't allow Millie enough time to defend herself before he began addressing the class proudly.

"Ladies, before class begins, I have a very unusual yet exciting announcement. I'm sure all of you are aware of the prestigious mathematics and engineering scholarship that Gressenheller University annually awards a student who exhibits unparalleled skills in the subjects. The QwiqLogiq scholarship is a very coveted one as it is the highest financial award given by an alumnus of the University, granting the winning student a completely tuition and board-paid education, as well as all of the benefits of fame that naturally follow afterwards. I'm sure you've all heard the gossip pertaining to this year's winner."

The girls began whispering amongst themselves as Layton took his typical standing position in front of his desk rather than sitting behind it. Millie nudged Laura's arm.

"My father told me that the student at Gressenheller who was expected to win is the sponsor's own son, and that even his own father didn't choose him! Isn't that awful? I wonder who in blazes could out-do Edward Chancey III enough to make his own father not want to choose him! Besides," she batted her eyes dramatically, "I don't understand who could deny such a beautiful boy his entitlement to the QwiqLogiq throne."

Laura waved her and the comments away, anxious to hear who had won. If it wasn't a Gressenheller student as her father had heard, who indeed could win it?

"It turns out that a Gressenheller student will _not_ be the recipient for this year's award. Much to the surprise of this humble college, it is actually one of your own," the Professor said, a smile playing at his lips.

All of the girls gasped and tried to chat with one another again, but the Professor regained their attention again quickly.

"You mean it's a girl?"

"It's a Grissom's student?"

He nodded. "Yes, quite. And as fate would have it, she's sitting right in this room."

He made no move to hide the answer as he stared straight into Laura's eyes, giving an off-center grin. She wasn't sure how to take his gaze. Did he expect her to know who it was? Was she supposed to give the answer? Was it…

"Me?" She pointed to herself, the many sets of eyes now staring at her making her feel ridiculous.

"Indeed, Miss Haris."

"Wait, you want me to guess who it is, or…"

"No, the recipient is indeed _you_, Laura. You're the winner. And for good reason as well. I hear the excavation in Ireland is producing fabulous results, many thanks to a lot of your own hard work. Ladies, if you will join me in congratulating your classmate, Laura Haris, this year's recipient of the QwiqLogiq Mathematics and Engineering Application scholarship."

Laura was dumbfounded. Had she actually woken up this morning and walked to class? Was she still sleeping? She continued staring at the Professor, brow furrowed, as if the words were spoken in Latin and she had no clue what was going on. Millie slapped her arm, pointing to the front where Layton was holding a plaque, then continued clapping reluctantly. Laura stood and walked to the front with hesitation.

She took the plaque and looked quickly over the shiny plate on the front, her name engraved in a flowing script. Was her name really ground into the metal?

"I can't believe this," she muttered, loud enough for the Professor to hear over the clapping and small cheers from some of the girls. "I don't even attend Gressenheller. There must be some sort of mistake."

"If you'll come to my office as usual for review, I'll explain there." He shook her hand firmly. "But please feel proud: this is what happens when you're honest with yourself and share your talents with others." A small wink, and he motioned for her to return to her seat.

"Now then, girls, as anticlimactic as it sounds, unfortunately we must return to archaeology, so if you'll please turn to page 394. We'll be skipping a few chapters…"

The hallways proved more annoying than usual as the news spread like wild fire, Laura becoming the target of compliments, some more half-hearted than others. Many people just stared in surprise, but she was sure many of them harbored jealousy or disbelief. It turned out that Edward Chancey the 3rd was a popular and well-liked boy in his fourth year, and it was a complete upset that some unknown freshman from a different college stole the crown right from underneath his nose, not to mention, from his own father.

Laura ate lunch in an unused classroom, away from prying eyes and eager ears. Perhaps she was being honest with herself, using her talents, but she wasn't sure if it was worth the reactions of those around her. Truthfully enough, she loved mathematics and engineering; she knew she was born for it. But why couldn't everyone accept that some people are good at that sort of thing, just as others are good at being lawyers, or doctors? There was nothing different about her other than her unique skills. It was no cause for envy in her mind. She didn't envy those skilled in other fields, why were others envious of her?

She hung her head and knocked on the Professor's door.

"Come in," his voice said, muffled by the closed door. Laura turned the handle and poked her face through the crack, pushing the rest of the door open slowly. Layton was busy at his tea pot, pouring some sort of crumbled leaf in the diffuser. He glanced out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, Laura, please take a seat. We have much to discuss."

She looked at her knees as she sat quietly, waiting for him to finish preparing his tea. He sat at the edge of his seat finally, hands folded, his elbows resting against the top of the desk. "Well." His smile was more energetic than usual, more of an elated grin if anything. "You've seemingly done the impossible, Laura."

"Much to the chagrin of everyone else, it seems," she said sullenly. "Seems I'm more _in_famous than anything."

"Well, understandably, their favored prince has since been usurped. However, where it truly counts, we're all _exceedingly_ proud of you. This is not something to blow off; it's a much esteemed honor. I trust that you realize this, despite the reactions of many of those around you."

Laura agreed with a lazy nod. "I still don't think I did anything deserving of this scholarship. I really wasn't trying all too hard."

"You've tried hard enough. Those who are involved with the awarding process feel you've done more than your appropriate share of work, and have contributed greatly to your field."

"My field?" It sounded restricting somehow, the way he said it. Wasn't she still a student? Or were her talents already committing her to something without her realizing it? Lovely, she thought, another opportunity to be used.

"Well, you do seem to love mathematics and engineering, don't you?"

"I don't know if I'm able to designate something as 'my field' just yet. I'm not even 18!" She wrung her hands together, trying to warm her fingers. "So, how does this all work? I've never been awarded something so…large."

"You'll be announced by the head sponsor this afternoon. Naturally, they'll want your presence for photographs, and a few words. Are you able to do that?"

"Do I even have a choice?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "Not really, but it's here at Grissom's, so it shouldn't take too much of your time. You're also expected to be present at the HEFF conference next month."

Laura knit her eyebrows. "Heff conference?"

"Higher Education For the Future. College-level educators from colleges throughout Great Britain attend, and many prestigious awards are given and recognized throughout the academic community. It also features workshops that touch upon improving college education, but that's not required for yourself." He lifted his hat and scratched his head. "It's all a lot easier than it sounds. The attending part, I mean."

"As long as I have the details, it shouldn't be a problem."

Professor Layton got up and tended to the tea, pouring two cups. "If you wouldn't mind waiting here for a bit longer, your paparazzi from the University should be here within half an hour. I know you don't like it hot, but this is a new recipe. Thought you'd like to be the guinea pig." She took a cup from him and looked at it carefully.

"By the way, I tried your tea last night, after I got home."

"Pardon?"

"The ingredients that you gave me, what seems like ages ago? I made the recipe."

He nodded, almost losing the sip he just took. "Oh yes, I wondered when you'd try that. So, what did you think?"

"I have to admit, I liked it better warm. It was a bit like apple cider, which I prefer warm anyway."

Layton raised his eyebrows, smiling against his cup. "So I made a fan out of you."

She snorted softly. "Was it a challenge or something?"

"Perhaps. I've never encountered anybody who didn't like that brew, and what with you not liking tea and all, I wanted to see if it could even win someone of your preferences over." He shrugged. "Guess I win."

"Ha. That's not really fair, but I suppose if you told me it was a game, I subconsciously wouldn't have been honest," she said, laughing slightly. "I'm a bit stubborn like that."

"As I've gathered," he said in a low sarcastic tone, catching himself off-guard.

'_I hardly ever use that tone, it's very curious as to why that's coming out…_'

Laura stared at the ceiling, purposefully avoiding his gaze. "If you're referring to my grade in your class, then that's an acceptable comment. I don't see it going up very much any time soon."

"It's not necessarily the fact that you are stubborn about it, it's the reason _why_ you are, that I struggle with. Is it really such a terrible subject?"

"It is. While you are busy teaching in a boring old classroom, the result of my productivity is being put to work at an excavation site. Which sounds more fun to you?"

"They both involve archaeology, Laura," he said matter-of-factly.

"But only one involves me actually learning about it directly. And that's boring. If I _have_ to be involved with it, I'd rather build the tools to make it happen. That's my input." She sipped her tea slowly, hoping she wouldn't burn her tongue.

He sat his cup on the desk, wearing a somewhat fake frown. "Hmm, now let's change the subject, as I'm beginning to feel a bit self-conscious."

She laughed in disbelief. "Really? Or was that more sarcasm?"

"It was sarcasm. Sorry, I'm not very good with it, when all is said and done." He smiled.

Laura sat quietly for a moment. What exactly was she talking about? What was the topic, the agenda? They both rattled off a load of words, but…what was going on? It was like it was going nowhere, but it flowed, it somehow worked; she didn't feel nervous, and she wasn't sitting there wondering if her words sounded stupid, or if she said the right thing. It felt quick, witty, as if she was trying to jib him on something or 'one-up' him, so to speak, but there really wasn't a reason at all. She'd have to think about it later, she decided.

Her demeanor changed to normal, and she chose her words more carefully, deciding to choose a topic the Professor could expound upon without needing her input. It was safer that way; she felt that when she really got into talking with him, it was as if she was exposing too much of herself. She became too open, too sarcastic, too…_her_.

'_Not acceptable! Teacher's aren't meant to be talked with that way_.'

As he was just about to delve further into the differences between European teas and Asian ones, a knock fell on the door, followed by a turn of the handle. The Headmaster entered, a tall and balding man following behind.

"Hershel, my dear fellow. I knew I'd find you here with our esteemed Miss Haris. Mr. Chancey, this here is your winner, Miss Laura Haris of Grissom's. Laura, this is Mr. Edward Chancey II, founder and sponsor of the QwiqLogiq scholarship."

She was taken aback by the kind and frail man that now stood before her, reaching out his hand. She stood as he shook hers slowly, cupping his other hand against the handshake.

"Miss Haris, truly an honor. I can't tell you how impressed I am to have someone like you as our recipient this year. I'm truly amazed, believe me." He let go of her hand and placed both of his on his hips. "I won't lie: this award is a difficult one to receive, and it's as if you were just born for it. Congratulations on a job well done."

Laura opened her mouth, smiling, not knowing what to say. "Well, thank you. To be honest, I just never expected this…"

"Many of the recipients say that, and I think that's a reoccurring trait that we see in these winners. You're all so humble and selfless, and even more so you deserve this honor. We'd be grateful if you could join us for a bit for photographs, and if you have anything you'd like to say to the press."

"The…the press?"

"Expectedly, this is _quite_ a big deal. You'll probably be finding people picking you out in public, should you venture about London. Don't be surprised if it happens!"

She nodded reluctantly. "Sure, I'd be happy to."

Glancing at the Professor, she was able to smile warmly, hoping it'd serve as a good enough thank you for the tea. He stood.

"Have fun," he said as she exited with the Headmaster and Mr. Chancey, who bid farewell as well. The door shut with a muffled click. Sitting back down, he stared at the top of the desk for a moment. He couldn't explain it, but the room suddenly felt a bit cooler, perhaps a bit duller? Maybe it was because he didn't get to finish his conversation on tea? No, suddenly, he wasn't just alone: he _felt_ alone. Usually, being by himself was considered a blessing, and he could think and think and think with no interruptions. A rare commodity, now that he was teaching. But this time, he was feeling something different.

'_I must admit, she's a bit fun to talk to, even if she's a bit stubborn,_' he thought to himself, surprised at this revelation. He'd never had a student near the same intellectual level as himself, so it was a bit strange. Sometimes he noticed himself forgetting that she _was_ his student.

"Hmm, although, that's all she is really, even if she's being awarded something so prestigious and talks wiser than her peers; that's still all she really is, after all," he concluded, pouring another cup of tea.

The same drive that kicked in when something needed solved was currently in gear; it was eating at him. It seemed explainable, but he wasn't in the condition to find the explanation. Perhaps he was too scared. It wasn't like him to have gray where he usually dealt with black and white. He felt as if something was infiltrating his carefully drawn boundaries, something foreign, something mysterious. Whenever he started thinking about it in depth, it bothered him. But when he just…went with the flow?

'_It's like…a pleasant sort of problem, bittersweet, like…_'

He blinked, shaking his head, deciding he needed more sleep. Definitely more sleep.

The cure-all answer he'd been prescribing for himself for the past few days.


	12. CHAPTER 12: DANCING WITH BLINDERS

**Oh my, we've broken the 15,000 word mark. I fail.**

**And…yet again I admit my idiocy: I don't know when or how elections for political offices take place in England, but let's assume that they are sometime soon in the storyline….. I say this because Laura's father is a politician, and mentions being busy with campaigning. This is all written from an American perspective, of course. Lolz. I apologize for inaccuracy.**

**Again, let me know if my sequencing is off. Sometimes I get lost in my own story. D:**

**I really liked this part of the story, so I went to town with it. However, it didn't come out the way I wanted; I read through it again to edit, and it didn't form the pictures in my mind that I originally planned. Well, I'm better at drawing/comic making. :[**

**Anyway, enjoy. Maybe! Don't forget to reviewwwwwwwwwwwwwww.**

**Killing eyeballs,**

**Kelsey/Ken**

* * *

**CHAPTER 12: DANCING WITH BLINDERS**

Professor Layton parked his car in front of a "small, pale yellow house," as it had been described, which turned out to be quite a large residence with ivy-covered walls and a cobblestone sidewalk leading to a large cherrywood front door. A thick fog blanketed the entire premises, as it had done to the entire city, but it looked like something straight out of a storybook otherwise.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and shut the car door, the sound heavy in the humid air. His leather dress shoes clicked against the stones as he walked up to the house, hands in his pockets. He shivered.

"Laura, you're too modest…" He smiled, admiring the landscaping details.

It had been weeks since Laura was named the winner of the most prestigious scholarship across all colleges in Great Britain, weeks that proved to be quite stressful not only for her but for the Professor himself. It was becoming more and more difficult to focus during any of their review sessions, as the topic always led somehow to something other than archaeology. They'd covered everything from classical music to agriculture in Central America to exotic birds, but hardly anything in the area of his own expertise. He asked more questions than she did, and she had taught him more than what he should have taught her. He began wondering if he looked forward to those sessions after school more than teaching class, as he was starting to feel the classroom didn't challenge him as much as it used to; all of the students (with the exception of Laura) were getting excellent grades. There was no input, no response in the classroom as there was when Laura would come by the office. Some days it would be a clash of ideology, others it would be just genial opinions about the world. Whatever the topic, it was a time he could just open up and have free discussion, something he loved doing but rarely had an excuse to do it. Sometimes he felt as if he was using her, but when he saw her light up and begin talking about something at length, he wondered if he was actually doing her the favor.

But for now, he was currently standing at his student's doorstep. He was to transport her to the conference, as he too was receiving an award for advances in archaeology. It'd all been set up weeks in advance, and he had no qualms about it then. Now, however, he felt a bit apprehensive. He wasn't sure what was so awkward about it, but it was as if he should have been some teenage boy picking up his first date. Why the image of him staring down an unaccepting father jumped to his mind was beyond him, but he hesitantly pressed the doorbell button.

He heard it ring inside, echoing throughout the house, followed by a scurry of frantic footsteps and the door unlocking. The door opened slightly and then stopped; he could hear some inaudible words being exchanged behind the door before it was finally swung open, a tall and thick man stepping forward into the doorframe. He eyed the Professor carefully.

'_The unaccepting father…_'

"Ah, hello, is Laura-"

"You must be Laura's professor," the man interrupted quickly in a thick and growling voice, not appearing to care that Layton had started to speak. "Going to the conference then? I would make it there myself, were I not working on a political campaign at the moment."

Layton smiled and opened his mouth, prepared to explain, when he was interrupted again.

"I want my daughter home by ten-thirty-_PM_-eleven at the absolute latest. I want nothing to take place outside of this so-called ceremony centre, do I make myself clear?"

"Well, sir, I-" He was cut off yet again, subject to a flurry of demands and precautionary advice, when he noticed a small person peek out from behind the man who appeared to be Laura's father, although he had never formally introduced himself. He craned his neck slightly to the right, managing to catch Laura's eye. The man suddenly turned around.

"Laura, you know what is expected of you. No tomfoolery on my watch!" he boomed.

"I haven't made you lose even a second's worth of sleep yet, have I, papa?" She put on an overly long dress coat as she made her way in front of her father, giving her professor a small smile.

"Sir, I would wish to inform you that the ceremony and workshops take place in a city two horus from here, and will occur over the next two days. A hotel is provided for Laura, at your convenience. As I'm giving a workshop tomorrow morning, I won't be able to drive...her…back…" He stopped as the man eyed Layton through half-open eyelids, breathing out heavily. "I take it you weren't informed."

"By the way, papa," Laura interluded, "this is my archaeology professor, Professor Hershel Layton. Professor, this is my father, Derek Haris." Laura's father shook out of his skeptical glare and embarrassedly held out a large hand.

"Oh yes, yes, how rude. I'm Derek Haris. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Layton."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Haris," Layton replied, not bothering to correct his title as 'Professor' rather than 'Mr'. "As I said—"

"I was _not_ informed of the duration of this event," he grunted, eyeing Laura down as if she were a puppy who had just used the floor as a toilet rather than somewhere outside.

"Oh, father, I told you two weeks ago."

"Well, I was busy during that time. Perhaps I wasn't paying close enough attention. Yes, that was it. Well, I suppose it's useless now, bothering over it. Well, I don't know your habits or personality, Mr. Layton, but my daughter had better not end up in some ditch due to your reckless driving, or to you disposing of her body. I'll fund a hotel room on her behalf and I want her calling home periodically, which means hourly," he said matter-of-factly, reaching behind him for his wallet.

"_Father_."

"Oh, that is quite alright. As I just explained, the University sponsors rooms for all those in attendance. She won't be needing any—"

"Well, at any rate, take this for petrol." He shoved a wad of cash into the Professor's hand. "I suppose I should thank you for taking my daughter. However, don't be getting any ideas. I expect a clean report, a clean experience. No hanky-panky." Laura closed her eyes in disbelief, although she knew her father got this way with everyone she was entrusted with. However, it never seemed more awkward than it was right now. Somehow, seeing her teacher uncomfortable made her equally nervous.

The professor's face went brick red. "Sir, I assure you, I—"

"A clean report," the giant growled, pointing a quivering sausage-like finger at Layton's face. "I'm no fool to pretty boys like you, all namby-pamby in the academia world. I see you lot and your behaviors. Subjective, emotional."

"With all due respect sir, I take my work and my students very seriously, and would never harm either in any way." He cleared his throat and found it difficult to look this man in the eyes.

'_Poor Laura! No wonder she's always so uptight! Although…perhaps it's why she's so tolerant of the cattiness of her classmates…she's got it a lot worse otherwise._'

"I assure you your daughter is in no safer hands, other than your own," he added in quickly, not wanting another lecture.

"That's the ticket. Now then, best of luck, Laura." He patted her heavily on the head.

"Father, I don't think I'll be able to call hourly as you prefer," she said, grabbing her bag.

"Then call home when you are in your room. _And_ before you retire for the night. It should suffice. If there's any trouble, you have that list of contacts still, right?"

"I will, I will, papa." She waved behind her as she walked down the front walk, finally turning towards the professor's car. She opened the car's door quickly and lowered herself into the seat.

It was the first time she'd sat in the Professor's car. It smelled heavily of some sort of wood or spice. It was difficult to discern. At any rate, even after her father's embarrassing lecture, it was pleasant and made her feel at ease, just as his sweater had when they went to the rugby game.

The Professor made his way around the front of the vehicle and opened his door. He fastened his belt with the click, reminding Laura to do likewise.

"Well, I suppose we'll be on our way now. Are you ready, Laura? Your bag is with you?"

She checked at her feet, securing her belongings between her legs. "Yes, I'm ready."

The car started with a turn of the key, and before long the little vehicle hummed and grumbled along on its way. It was as if the car itself had something to say about the whole trip. Laura imagined the car protesting the drive, and then herself disagreeing with it. After all, she'd waited for this day for weeks.

She'd decided shortly after the scholarship announcement that review sessions were much more interesting than class. Upon informing her parents about the whole thing, rather than being elated, they got more critical of her school performance, as if a B in archaeology would cause her to lose the award. She would get daily 'feedback' from her parents that turned out to be more of a harsh scolding than anything helpful, and soon found herself yearning for a more positive reinforcement, a kinder voice. She couldn't help but admit that her only release was with the Professor after class, and she looked forward to his office every day. It was the only place she didn't get ridiculed, and the only place she could talk openly about everything under the sun. And the only place she'd get free, cold tea.

Just as she was thinking about whether she used Professor Layton more as a counselor than an archaeology professor, she was reminded about her father's words just moments ago.

"Um, Professor Layton, I would like to apologize for my father's behavior. I—"

"Nonsense, Laura! I am perfectly aware that Mr. Haris is a man very much dedicated to the protection and overall livelihood of his only daughter. It would be very strange indeed to allow one's little girl to go so far with a man unfamiliar to him. Actually, I'm surprised he allowed it in the first place!" He straightened his hat with a low chuckle.

Laura giggled herself. "You know, I guess that makes sense, and I'm surprised as well. It's quite unlike him. Although, elections are coming up, so perhaps it's no surprise."

Layton's eyebrows rose. "Elections? Is your father a politician?"

"He's heavily involved in city politics and business. He is running for some sort of office, I don't really pay attention." She looked out the window, eager to change the subject. She felt ashamed that she hadn't paid much attention to her father's job. She should have known more information about it. Perhaps she'd ask when she got back home, but by then, she was sure she'd have lost interest again. "Either way, I'm sorry he seemed so critical. I suppose I'm used to it, but it causes outsiders to feel a bit insecure."

"I've had a fair share of dueling with such personalities, it's nothing out of the ordinary," he lied, resolving not to share his actual discomfort. "Perhaps it was just a bad day on his campaign trail."

"Hmm."

"Now then, this is a two hour trip. Please let me know if you need anything along the way, agreed?"

"Agreed."

She sat quietly for a while as the Professor wove the little vehicle throughout the city, making sure he was safe enough to continue. She was strict about reckless driving, and it was half the reason she walked 10 minutes to school each morning. They finally made it through to a long stretch of countryside.

The silence seemed to be heavy now that they'd exited the suburbs and were now only faced with leafless trees and open field. She wondered if she'd seem too talkative if she just started off on a random subject. As if reading her mind, he turned briefly to catch her attention.

"So, what should we talk about this time? It seems we've almost exhausted all possible topics, at the rate we've been going at," he said, trailing off with a short laugh.

"Well, first, I'd like to know the sequence of events for this conference, if you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. Seems that this evening is when the big announcements are made. Understandably, that includes your scholarship, and if I'm not mistaken, my award as well. Although it pales in comparison and is shadowed by your achievements."

"So modest. What did you win, by the way?" She felt she was at least close enough to him now that she could ask such things without coming off as nosy.

"Hmm, I suppose, well, _they_ suppose, that I am up for a full-time professor position. They say that I'll be the youngest professor to take a position at Gressenheller. It deserves an award somehow…"

"Oh my, well, I dare say it does! Isn't that quite a feat?"

He laughed. "I wonder if you honestly think so, since I merely 'play in the sand,' digging around for 'dinosaur dentures'."

Laura bit her lip. "Oh. You heard that one, did you?" She'd been interviewed a couple of times by various newsletter groups from Gressenheller and Grissom's, as well as a couple of local newspapers. On occasion, she slipped in a few quick attacks at the course she did the most poorly in, but mostly for humor's sake. Apparently, her sharp comments made their way back to him unbeknownst to her until now.

"I dare say I did!" he quipped, mimicking her words and tone slightly.

"It wasn't meant to be malicious. Just a small bit of fun, really," she tried to reason. "You can't honestly think I only believe that?"

"I'll keep my shovel and pail to myself, thank you." Laura shook her head, rolling her eyes as he chuckled softly. "Anyway, we'll be recognized among a few others, and there's a dinner as well. It's mostly a start-off event to let everyone relax. And, if I might encourage, you are allowed to have fun."

"What fun could a stuffy old dinner with stuffy old rich people be?" she scoffed incredulously. "I'd get more out of talking to rocks."

"Now _that_ I won't argue with, but regardless, as your escort, I'm allowing you to not feel that you have to be perfect in front of everybody. And that's a bit of friendly advice that you can take with you in any situation," he said confidently.

"What's wrong with being perfect?"

"Let's just say, we can't all fully appreciate perfection, and many don't even give it the time of day. It's too foreign, and it's really too simplistic. There's nothing for us to relate with, to hold onto when it comes to perfection. It's very cut and dry, very black and white compared with our shades of gray. But," he cleared his throat, "to answer your question, there's nothing wrong with it. What I'm really saying is, don't waste your energy on those who don't pay attention."

Laura couldn't figure out whether she was really getting some sort of cryptic advice, or was being insulted. She laughed sarcastically, airing on the side of paranoia. "Is that supposed to be some weird, indirect insult?"

"What makes you think I would do that?"

"Then what is it supposed to be? A lecture?"

"Well, a suggestion, for one. I suppose it could be a compliment of sorts," he said, starting to feel uncomfortable. "I wasn't being condescending when I said all of that."

"Hmm, well, then who should I waste my energy on, since everyone's pretty much useless, and I'm so _beyond_ them, as a perfectionist?"

Layton sighed. "I suppose you have to decide that for yourself." He paused. "Laura, I wasn't trying to cause an argument."

"Hmm."

"Laura?"

"Have you ever heard of the 'Quiet Game,' Professor?"

"It seems I said something wrong…"

"I _quite_ love that game."

Laura turned towards the window, disappointed. Seems he thought of her as aloof after all, just as everyone else seemed to do. Perfection, indeed. All that bogus philosophizing about people not understanding perfection, what was that all about? And how she basically shouldn't behave in such a way because no one would understand her. Was it just a polite way of saying, 'Be like everyone else'? For some reason, replaying those words and thinking about it made her feel more hurt as the car ride went on. Usually, she would have blown it off but coming from him, it was a bit different, somehow.

'_Why do I feel injured, or betrayed? It's just another snide, thoughtless comment. I'm used to that, what is the problem here?_'

The Professor kept glancing to the side for several minutes, trying to see whether Laura's expression changed. He noticed her expression had hardened as he spoke freely before. Her eyes now looked lost, as if seeing things in some faraway place. Admittedly, he felt he hadn't said anything insulting, but something in his words affected her that way. In reality, he was speaking in a sort of code, but she obviously hadn't caught on.

'_Unfortunately, emotions can really demolish a person's logic…_'

He stopped at a traffic light, reaching a hand out towards Laura's shoulder.

"Laura, did I hurt your feelings?" he asked cautiously.

"No."

"It's strange that you're so quiet."

"Is it now? I am often quiet, although I describe it more as 'contemplative'."

"Well, call it what you like, but—"

"I just have nothing to say," she said, trailing off with an inaudible comment.

"What was that at the end?"

She turned her head slowly, sheepishly looking up at him. "Look, I didn't know how to take your comments a while ago. And I'm currently unsure on how to respond to you. Somehow, I… It may be foolish, but I felt like you were insulting me."

Layton frowned. "I… Am I allowed to feel insulted that you'd think I'd do such a thing to one of my students?"

"Well, a part of me thought that, but I didn't know what else you meant by it. I felt you were telling me to be like everyone else, because by being a perfectionist, it's useless since no one will understand me." She started to wring her hands together in nervousness, when she was startled by the Professor's laughter.

"It never ceases to amaze me how those who speak the same language can still be so confused over words," he mused, changing lanes in traffic. Laura looked at him in confusion. "I wasn't intending for you to take it that way at all. Actually, there was a puzzle laced in my words. Maybe you'll figure it out when you have a clearer head. That's the best way to solve things. Anyway, it's about half an hour until we arrive at our destination. Let's say we go back to conversing as we are used to." He glanced over at his passenger. "Care to choose the subject?"

"How about how useless language is sometimes?" she suggested, feeling ridiculous that she'd felt so strongly about something that never existed.

"Regrettably, that might last more than a half hour," he said, grinning.

The Professor pulled the car up slowly in front of a massive cluster of buildings, some of the sections looking like hotel rooms, other parts resembling sections of a conference hall. He removed the key and got out, handing the keychain to the valet parker. He walked around the car as Laura stepped out, breathing in the cold wet air. Other cities always seemed to have different smelling air, but maybe it was her imagination.

Layton reached for Laura's bag.

"Allow me."

Laura hesitated handing him the handle. "Well, you might want to rethink that…"

"Nonsense, a gentleman never lets a lady lug around heavy baggage." He _did_ rethink when she let the whole weight of the bag pull down on his arm, forcing him to bend completely at the waist. "What in the world…!"

"Well, when you said we'd be gone for two days, I started worrying whether something bad would happen during the conference, and whether I'd need to be seriously prepared or not, and…"

"I thought I said two days not two weeks!" he grunted, hoisting it finally onto his shoulder. "I'll take your word for it next time you tell me to rethink. Wait, how did you carry this so graciously before?"

She shrugged. "Years of practice?"

He toiled to the front desk, where he requested bellboy service even before confirming the reservation with the University. Minutes later, they were following an attendant to their room, the Professor massaging his shoulder mildly.

"Professor Layton? I didn't consider it before but…"

"Yes?"

"Isn't it slightly, um, well, don't you feel it's a bit, oh how to say this…"

"Your thoughts paralleled mine. The Headmaster and I will be sharing a room adjoining to your own. You'll have your own privacy, guaranteed. You have nothing to worry about. And…be sure to tell your father that as well."

She giggled as the attendant left them to the room, signs of the Headmaster's presence already there. A large suitcase sat heavily on a queen bed.

"Seems Morris has already claimed his space," he laughed, removing his jacket and tossing it onto the other bed. "Laura, let's make sure your room is up to standard."

The adjoining space was equipped with a king size bed, a large flat screen television hanging on the opposite wall. The room was open-concept, the Jacuzzi tub sitting under a low half-wall that led into the tiled bathroom space. Laura looked around with interest, nodding in approval, the Professor staring with mouth agape.

"It has wood paneling and marble?"

"This will do," she decided, sitting heavily onto the bed. "I love king beds."

"As long as you are happy, we're delighted as well," he said smiling, silently wishing for the more opulent of décor, although he wouldn't dream of mentioning it. "Our bags should arrive soon. Until then, I'm going to go out and search for the Headmaster. Please make yourself at home. Keep the door locked." He walked out of the room.

After several hours of the Science channel (something she didn't know existed, due to her family not having a television), Laura decided to prepare for the ceremony, the only part she really needed to care about. She took a quick bath and dressed herself in a matte gray full-length dress and matching wedge sandals. Sporting a hair style was never considered before this moment, but she wondered if she should make herself look a bit more mature for the sake of the event. She carefully used a curling iron located in the bureau and planted bouncy curls throughout her dark hair.

'_I wonder what the Professor will think_…'

"What?" she blurted out at her own reflection, startled by her own thoughts. Could she not even talk to _herself_ anymore without sounding like a baffoon?

Her heart raced. What was that thought just now?

"I'm losing it so badly… I think I need to get to bed early tonight." She heard the other room's door open and checked her outfit one more time, making sure nothing was out of place.

'_I never used to care about such things, why now?_'

She looked into the other room and saw her professor open his own suitcase, pulling out a brown suit coat. He sensed movement and looked up briefly in her direction, smiling before quickly looking back up again, plain-faced.

"L…Laura?"

All of a sudden she felt embarrassed, not expecting him to react as he had. Her face turned pink as she tried to regain her composure and act natural. She smiled shyly.

"Er, yes?"

He blinked and shook his head. "N-nothing, it's just…well, you look very different from the usual. You dress up nicely."

"I must look like a disaster normally then, to get that sort of reaction," she said plainly.

"No, no, that's not what I mean, but—"

"Layton! Miss Haris, welcome!" The Headmaster walked into the room in high spirits, wearing a thick suit and a recently combed head of balding hair. "You're going to be joining us in the Madden Conference Room at 6:15 this evening, correct? The academic crowd wants to see to it that you're recognized for your efforts, both of you. Dinner will be served as well, if you are so inclined to take part."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Morris," the Professor said.

"And of course, my sort of beverage will be there," he gave the Professor an obvious wink, "and a good amount of entertainment as well. Dancing, Layton, there'll be dancing. I wonder if I should teach a few of these young whippersnappers the dances of the decades…"

Layton laughed. "That's entertainment in itself, no doubt." The Headmaster shook a pointed finger slowly towards the Professor.

"Oh, you laugh now, but those dances are difficult!"

"I do know from unfortunate experience…"

"At any rate, you should be heading down there within 15 minutes; you know the building? It's the one down the street, about a block or two, on your right. See you soon!"

Without waiting for a reply, he was gone again. Professor Layton looked over at Laura.

"He sure does talk and run, doesn't he! Well, should we make our way to the conference hall?"

She nodded in agreement, and followed him out into the hallway.

The conference building was near the hotel, but required around a seven minutes' walk. The fog had let up slightly, but the cold temperature remained. Laura pulled her coat about her tighter, and checked her gait, making sure she wouldn't misstep and twist her ankle.

'_I hate these shoes…_'

The Professor was silent for the most part, glancing around and taking interest in several of the types of car that drove by. Occasionally he'd look to his side to make sure his charge was still well-cared for.

"And, here we are," he said, looking up at a large building now looming just ahead of them.

The doors were testament to the interior décor to come; heavy, ornate carvings traced the outer perimeter, and patterned glass was inlaid into the door frames, leaves of ivy traced around frosted lilies and chrysanthemums, forever held fast in their glassy bloom. The lobby was adorned with marble floor tile, reflecting the warm orange and golden lighting from the wall sconces punctuated around the perimeter of the room.

A woman at the large, oaken front desk stared questioningly at the newcomers.

"Good evening, is there something that I can help you with, sir?" she said, continuously looking from her paper work then back to Layton.

"I'm here for the HEFF conference. I was wondering if you could direct me to the proper hall."

She nodded, smiling, then pointed to her left. "Please head down this hall and your destination will be on the right. Please leave your coats and any other articles you wish to check in with the hostess at the doors."

"Thank you, madam." He motioned for Laura to follow him. "Lovely interior, is it not?"

Laura simply nodded, eyes taking in as much of the posh surroundings as possible. It wasn't everyday she got to see such crisp and well-groomed wooden and marble surfaces. The lighting created an ambiance that relaxed her, despite the thoughts now swirling in her head. She realized she'd be recognized in the coming hours, and things like that made her nervous. So many people judging her every move; it was certainly bothersome at best.

Before she knew it, she'd given over her coat and walked through two wooden doors onto a small platform that was like a balcony overlooking the large expansive conference room. A short set of stairs descended to the gray and white marble floor, hundreds of watery reflections dancing about as the guests walked around, light bouncing off wine glasses and food platters, brass wall sconces, and the occasional gold watch.

Laura was staring out at a large, expansive space, incredulous at the amount of people present. The room easily held 2,000 people, as she read on the 'Maximum Seating Capacity' sign next to the entrance door. The Professor tipped his hat, scratching his head as he scouted for someone he recognized in the room.

"Hmm, perhaps we'll just find an open table and look for the Headmaster after claiming seats." He looked at his student kindly. "You've been quiet. Are you feeling nervous?"

"Well, maybe just a little," she uttered airily, carrying out her trademark fingers-through-hair trick. "This is certainly more people than I was ever expecting."

"It's nothing to get stressed out about. You'll be back in the hotel, comfortable in your bed in no time. The night will go by rather quickly, I'm positive of it. Ah, now there are a couple of seats just waiting for us."

After weaving through waiters and guests, they were finally sitting at a circular table that could sit six people comfortably, nine if the diners didn't mind another's elbow in their plates. The room was already full of people talking, laughing, calling for more drinks. A skinny young man with a constantly worried expression sat at their table along with a middle aged man who was doing most of the talking. She overheard them talking about vintage wine, something she didn't care much for. It didn't seem that the Professor did either, as his interest wasn't piqued, something Laura had become quite good at noticing.

She tucked her purse underneath the chair, unwilling to leave it at the door, and unbuttoned her sweater, fanning herself absentmindedly with her menu. Professor Layton looked casually at the menu placed before him.

"Fish, beef, chicken….I'm really not so certain I could choose only one thing," he said, tracing the words to the entrée descriptions with a finger.

"I've already decided," Laura muttered, glancing back at the menu. "There's a limited selection, it's really not hard to choose from these sorts of menus."

The Headmaster appeared from the crowd and sat himself on the other side of the Professor.

"Quite the crowd. More people than last year, for certain!" he bellowed, raucous even before consuming any alcohol. "Layton, how about I order us a special bottle of something? My treat."

The Professor waved the suggestion off while smiling politely. "I'm quite alright, Morris, I don't find it particularly couth of myself to drink in front of a young lady, but you can enjoy it at your leisure."

"Oh, Layton, such a gentleman, I'm sure Laura doesn't mind a bit. Laura, your father drinks, certainly. I know him from old, swell chap. You wouldn't mind your professor enjoying a bit of vino, right?"

She shook her head. "I don't mind. It's not my place to say so anyhow."

Taking her words as permission, the Headmaster slapped Layton on the back and walked off to find a waiter. Layton coughed, straightening his hat.

"Energetic, that one… I'd prefer some tea, if he wouldn't mind."

As many of the guests were already enjoying their meals, a man stepped up to a slender podium as the lights were dimmed slightly, a few focused on the stage. Laura recognized him as the man who came to Professor Layton's office and shook her hand after winning the scholarship, Mr. Chancey II. He smiled, looking down at his notes. He seemed a bit more harrowed than he had the day of the announcement.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to tonight's beginning ceremonies for the 35th HEFF conference. Let me introduce myself as Edward Chancey the 2nd, the current coordinator for this event, and sponsor of many of tonight's award and scholarship winners." He paused briefly to allow the audience to applaud. Laura wondered silently how crowds always knew when to commence clapping. "We will start with a brief word from…"

Laura was already stalking from her part of the room, eyes roving throughout the crowd. She knew nobody there, save the Professor and the Headmaster. Things like this were no fun whatsoever, and she silently wished she could be back in her hotel room watching the Science channel, or perhaps exploring the place if only on the grounds that the interior decorating was beautiful to look at. After a good ten minutes of some well-known benefactor of some well-known college, Chancey's introduction to the QwiqLogiq scholarship reclaimed her attention once again. Her stomach felt like it had swelled up into her throat.

"Now, this year's recipient is a bit of a change from the expected. Many candidates within the University could have ended up the winner, but in my heart I knew another candidate existed outside of the Gressenheller pool, another candidate who had done more than just the minimum to fulfill the criteria. One who did this all without even _trying_ to gain an award or recognition. I'm not so sure this person even believed they could end up with this recognition, however, circumstances dictated it be so. Fate is a funny thing.

" The winner attends Grissom's College for Women, but is attending advanced engineering courses at Gressenheller University of London."

Laura tensed up, hearing the description; she felt self-conscious in the matter of a second. As the announcer relayed a concise history of herself to the crowd, Layton watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"Laura, relax." He pushed a small cup of tea on the table towards her. "Remember our discussion in the car."

She glared at him unintentionally, but her instincts were getting the better of her as her emotions were going haywire.

'_Idiot, the discussion where I felt insulted, yet you never explained_ why_ it wasn't insulting?_'

"If you'll all please join me heartily in congratulating this year's QwiqLogiq Mathematics and Engineering Application scholarship recipient (whew, what a mouthful!), the multi-talented Miss Laura Haris."

Stiff and numb, Laura traced a path around the round tables in the room, deafening applause filling both of her ears as it bounced around the room. The place seemed much larger now that she had to navigate through it when everyone was occupying every single chair. She may have accidentally knocked off someone's sweater from the back of a chair, but didn't bother apologizing: she was much too focused on walking and shaking Mr. Chancey's hand correctly. Hands clapped all around until she finally reached the small stage that the announcer stood on.

"Congratulations once again, Laura. It's an honor to have met such a bright and wise young lady. You are truly deserving of this award." He continued clapping, signaling the room to follow suit. Laura turned and slowly faced the crowd, smiling awkwardly as she was given a large golden trophy, the symbol for the QwiqLogiq scholarship sitting atop a cylindrical tube that had Gressenheller's motto inscribed into it, the Latin twisting back and forth around the metal. She shook Mr. Chancey's hand and accepted a large bouquet and paper award from a stage assistant who ushered her to stand close to the sponsor and face the crowd for pictures. She blinked multiple times as cameras flashed in her direction, many belonging to the press, their large tripods stationed directly in front of the stage.

'_Is this all really necessary…?_'

Mr. Chancey whispered down to Laura. "Do you have anything you'd like to address to the crowd?"

"Is it customary to do so? I didn't really prepare anything profound…"

"A few grateful words should do the trick." He held a hand towards the microphone, instantly sending a fear response through Laura's system.

'_I hate improvising! What do I say, who do I thank?_'

She cleared her throat, waiting briefly for the applause to die down.

"I'd like to thank you all for your enthusiasm," she started, her voice quiet even with the help of the microphone. She planned out her words in the span of mere nanoseconds, hoping her wit would carry her through enough to not be quoted as a blithering dunderhead. "This is obviously a prestigious scholarship, one that I don't feel I quite deserve, but am extremely grateful for. Firstly, I'd like to thank my parents, who unfortunately couldn't be here tonight (_'although I probably could have attended college without them…_'). Secondly, the faculty and staff at Gressenheller University who allowed me to participate in their engineering competitions last year. And last but not least, my professors, especially my mathematics and engineering ones, and…" She paused, trying to scan the crowd for her table, hoping she'd catch a glimpse of the familiar wool cap. "…my archaeology professor, Professor Layton, who has encouraged me continuously throughout this semester despite my lack of skill in his course. He's out there in the crowd somewhere, lost in a sea of people." She held her hand over her eyes, pretending to scout the room, getting a low rumble of laughs from the crowd. "Thank you all for your presence tonight, and enjoy your evening."

Nodding curtly, she left the podium and walked down from the stage into the mass of applause once again. She didn't realize where she was walking, instead only worrying about how stupid she sounded singling out Layton.

'_Why did I do that? Why on _earth_ did I do that? Encouraging me continuously, I said, oh encouragement, my foot! What a joke this all is, I sound like an emotional greeting card the more I spend with that Neanderthal!_'

After circling many tables she finally found her own as the clapping subsided, Mr. Chancey moving on to the next announcement. She eyed her teacher before sitting heavily in her chair. He gave a few light claps and laughed quietly.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I'm sure I sounded ridiculous; I wasn't expecting that at _all_." She closed her eyes and rubbed her arms up and down a few times to shake off the prickly feeling in her skin.

"It was fine, I assure you."

Laura's limbs quivered slightly, her shaking fingers really showing the attention high she was coming off of. She wondered if he'd paid good attention to her miniature speech or not, as he never mentioned it further. Grabbing her fork, she made to finish the rest of the meal on her plate as the announcements went into awards for faculty. Several people walked to the stage, preceded and followed by applause as it was for her. She paid no attention to names or achievements made.

The Professor adjusted his hat, a frown at his lips as Chancey's description soon fit him. Laura watched him intently as the list of successes and accomplishments grew larger. He pulled his hat further over his eyes after each list entry.

"It's really not laudable," he said with a sigh.

The dreaded twinge, _again_, Laura groaned internally. His modesty was quite admirable, and could she say…_endearing_?

'_If I were one of those lumbering monkey-girls from school, I suppose I might use colloquial and say _cute. _For God's sake!_'

"A boon to the archaeological department, and a truly brilliant mind on the field, Professor Hershel Layton is up for a sort of promotion next year, and should he accept, will be the youngest professor that Gressenheller has ever had. I wish to introduce you to Professor Layton, and if you could join me in congratulating him for all these various achievements…"

The Professor stood up quickly, winding through the tables and arriving at the front near the stage more quickly than Laura had; perhaps he was used to these things, she mused. After shaking Chancey's hand, he stepped to the microphone, not even needing a cue.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. It is quite the humbling experience, being talked about at length as if I had just invented the light bulb or something profound—" pause for minor laughter and clapping, "—no, no, on the contrary, I merely have invested my indelible love for the field, as any good archeologist would do. Let us remind ourselves of why the department even exists in the first place by showing our praises for all those involved, if they may stand and be recognized."

Several people stood, dotting the room with Layton's fellow colleagues. More applause. Layton smiled before leaving the podium to the announcer once again. He returned to his seat with a trophy the size of a paperweight, and about as heavy as one as well. His name was boldly engraved.

"Nice prize," Laura said with a slightly sarcastic smile. "Your list of achievements is inversely proportional to the size of your trophy there."

"I might warn you that your arithmetic prowess may be wasted on me if you use any more difficult of mathematical jargon," he uttered quietly with a laugh, putting his trophy in his jacket pocket.

"I'll be sure to steer clear of calculus for your sake then."

"The rest of your talents, however, are perfectly acceptable."

She looked at him, slightly puzzled. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Acceptable to waste. Perfectly acceptable to waste." He caught her off-guard with a particularly disarming smile. It felt gentle, as they typically were, but it almost was a hint left behind for her to use.

"Speaking in puzzles again. I'll talk maths if you don't stop talking puzzles."

He laughed and poked at his plate once again, thankful that the room was dim enough to hide his flushed cheeks.

'_Maybe it's just the fervor from receiving an award, yes, that's it. I had best stop before I put my foot in my mouth…_'

The Headmaster made rounds to several tables throughout the evening, returning to Professor Layton's often. He had drank several too many cups of something, as had the Professor, but Layton's only resulted in an extra trip to the latrine. The Headmaster's resulted in a red faced happiness that seemed almost impossible to break.

"And now, Hershel, it's time for the dancing! It's in the room just adjacent. If only my wife were here, she loves ballroom dancing."

"I was born with two left feet, Morris," the Professor said, shrugging.

"Nonsense! You're an English gentleman, Layton, a _gentleman_. Surely you can dance. Perhaps not as well as myself but…" He took a swig of something dark red out of a crystal glass, smacking his lips audibly. "A bit dry, perhaps I'll try the other bottle…. Well, anyway, you'll be there to see my skills, won't you, old bean? A little competition may get you to show off yourself!"

He scurried off towards a waiter carrying a tray of mugs and fluted champagne glasses.

The Professor waited patiently for Laura, who had since excused herself to the washroom.

"Surely, she's not the dancing sort. Perhaps it's best to watch the Headmaster briefly, then return to the hotel."

Laura returned, purse in hand.

"Women's bathrooms are the worst. A line reaching down the hall. I analyzed the same wallpaper pattern for around five minutes before even stepping foot in the actual bathroom! Quite nice wallpaper though, reminded me of fractals." She settled into her seat shortly before the Headmaster's hands gripped her chair firmly, causing her to jump.

"Apologies, Miss Haris! Seems I caught my foot on a loose tile…" He looked under him as if to chastise whatever breach in tile conduct caused him to trip. "But let's focus on the important things. Persuade your professor to join the crowd in the room next to this one! Surely you enjoy a good dance and a bit of live music. It's all for you and all those present who've achieved so much! Enjoy yourself!"

She nodded, smiling her thanks. "I appreciate it, but I've never danced, and I don't feel inclined to do so."

"Never danced?" roared the Headmaster, almost insulted. "Well, then, I'm deciding for you! Come, come, you two, off with you!"

With a violent shake of their chairs, both Laura and the Professor rose without another word, shoulders firmly held by the half-drunk Headmaster.

"Really, Morris, is this any way to treat your—"

"Quiet, Layton, it's for your own good! A man of your upbringing enjoys a good dance once in a while. If there's one thing you can teach a lady, it's to teach them how to dance with you." He winked at Laura. "This one here is a real talented one. Lying dormant is a real Fred Astaire! No, you wouldn't believe it, but he's a bundle of sticks—I mean, skills—this one! Haha, bundle of sticks…"

"Honestly, Morris, your drink is making you more bold than your claims," the Professor grumbled, finally allowed to stop outside an entrance. "Perhaps you'll show us you own hidden skills first."

"So be it!"

The room looked like the previous one, except without tables and chairs and a marble floor. Instead, a golden wooden floor reflected a group of dancers, flying over their distorted selves in a series of waltzes. A short stage was on the opposite side of the entrance doors, placed in front of several floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a view to the streets outside. Darkness had descended, and the street lamps were already burning brightly. The room's lights shown on a polished white grand piano, its pianist slamming against the keys and moving to and fro along the black and white span with a natural agility.

The Headmaster walked ahead of Layton and Laura.

"Now then, tell me this doesn't make you want to get up and move around! Say, Cherise, darling, be a good sport and help me show this youngster how the dance is done." He grabbed a startled older woman, and spun her about, waltzing her into the middle of a sea of people.

Professor Layton chuckled.

"Don't worry, that's actually his cousin," he said quietly in response to Laura's terrified gasp. "Well, I will say he's very good about it, dancing. He had me going for a bit, I wasn't sure whether he was bluffing or not."

It did look very natural, the fluid movement over the polished and shining floor. Regardless of whatever preexisting notions she had about dance, it was almost so mesmerizing that a part of Laura wanted to try it herself. She could feel herself flying about, almost defying gravity, heart soaring.

"Shall we give it a go?"

Laura shook her thoughts off. "Pardon?"

"Would you like to try?" repeated the Professor.

She shook her head violently, surprised. "N-no! There's no way I'd put myself out there like that! He's been _trained_ apparently; I don't know the first thing about dancing."

"Would you believe me if I told you it's not necessarily about training, but simply responding to the music? I know you're capable of that, more than capable." _That smile_, Laura thought, half angry at him, half at herself for not steeling herself against it.

"Well…" She looked at the crowd, at the piano, then back at him. "Let me use the restroom again. I'll think about it."

"I'll just wait here then."

Laura rushed to the washroom, just off the area of the bathroom stalls. A flock of uppity women arranged their tresses and reapplied make-up in front of the mirror, talking about some man out and about in the crowd. Laura shut her mind off and stared into the mirror, pretending to wash her hands.

'_He can't really be expecting to dance with him… I suppose it's nothing more than dancing to those watching but…somehow it feels a bit more intimate than an innocent dance, I don't know _why. _I'm starting to feel afraid, afraid of being around him. I keep feeling comfortable, then when I get too deep, I want back out again. Not because of him, but…because of my own responses, my emotional responses._

_I never know what to do, and the only person I could ask is the one causing the problem!_'

The women retreated from the counter, giving the mirror one last sweeping look before leaving. One of them had left a tube of mascara and container of blush next to the sink. Laura eyed them briefly, wanting to chase the lady down and return them, but another group of women rushed through the door again, about to take the former's place.

She grabbed the articles and hurried into a stall. Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out a small mirror and set it on a pull-down shelf on the stall's wall.

"I've never done this but…if I'm going to make a fool of myself, I might as well mask myself while doing it."

The Professor chatted briefly with a few colleagues and fellow faculty members before feeling concerned. He checked his pocket watch.

"Quite the bathroom break. I suppose it's the line, once again." He turned when someone cleared their throat just next to him.

"If you're going to invite me to dance, then you'd better do it properly."

"I beg your…pardon?" He immediately chastised himself for whatever it was he just felt, but it sent guilt through his insides. Something along the lines of attraction, however mildly. His student somehow transformed herself into someone more stereotypically suited for such occasions, dark curls pulled back loosely, her eyes darkened by…what was that stuff again? He knew what it was, but…mind blank, he couldn't retrieve the data quickly enough. Whatever it was augmented the wisdom in her eyes by her several years, and made them very difficult to get out of.

'_Women's bathrooms are dangerous places…_' he thought.

"I mean, ask me formally. Isn't that how it's done in the movies?"

He stared at her, confused, then laughed loudly. "I dare say, if this were a movie, you'd be dancing with someone a bit more learned than myself, and perhaps someone a little less puzzled."

"Puzzled?" she repeated, curious.

"Never you mind. For your formal standards, I'll acquiesce." He held out his hand, chuckling as was the usual. "Laura, may I have this dance?"

She paused, pretending to think it over. "You may. But I must warn you: this might be painful." She took his hand, wincing slightly.

"That's not very movie-like. Isn't everything supposed to be perfect in every way in the movies?"

"I've never danced." She felt him pull her closer, accelerating her heart beat unwillingly. "Must I stand so close? I'm a bit claustrophobic," she lied. In reality, she just wasn't used to human touch, and the feeling was a bit frightening, even if she couldn't quite explain why.

"Well, I wouldn't want you falling on this hard floor, so it's only expected that I keep you secure, wouldn't you agree?"

"…I suppose so."

'_But that scent…it's much too annoying, intoxicating even…like that stupid, bloody sweater._'

He placed her hands appropriately and swung about slowly, helping her fixate on the current rhythm, belonging to whatever song was playing. It was a medium pace, some sort of jaunty waltz.

"Is it difficult?"

"Well, it is _quite_ difficult," she mumbled, not meaning the dancing part.

"You seem to be having a hold on it. You haven't stepped on my foot—ouch—yet…seems I spoke too soon."

"I'm so sorry, I just…" she glanced around at the others dancing about them. "This isn't…inappropriate, is it?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, after all, is it strange for…well, you know…you and…well myself…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "It's nothing. I suppose it's nothing."

He laughed, his pace becoming faster. "Well, you needed a partner, didn't you?"

"I didn't _need_ one…"

"You wanted to learn, didn't you?"

"I was pretty much forced!"

He shook his head. "Is that so? Indeed, you could have declined. My feelings would have remained intact."

Laura paused, staring at the zipper on his sweater, then looking back up. "Would they have?"

His pace slackened as he wondered whether to be truthful or not. It was a difficult decision as her eyes were set on his like a vise on his conscience. "Well, it might have taken a blow to my pride, considering you might not trust my skills—"

"You're lying," she interrupted forcefully, a note of disappointment in her voice that contrasted the upbeat notes now flying from the piano. "I watched you as they read your description earlier, your list of achievements. I highly doubt your pride would be offended. You're very modest."

The Professor smiled. "You might be too astute and observant for your own good."

"Those traits haven't let you down, have they?" she pressed further, resolute to make him feel just as nervous as she was feeling. It was worse than when she talked with him in the office. Now, there was barely any space between them, and it felt suffocating, physically and mentally.

"I have a feeling they might someday, but as for now, no," he said reassuringly. "As for your concern, this is nothing more than a professor teaching his student, as is a teacher's duty, and nothing more than a gentleman giving an eager young lady a chance to grace the dance floor, as would be _his_ duty." He caught the change of Laura's expression, her eyes falling away from the current situation. She was lost in thought. "Is that correct?"

She nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Yes, yes I suppose that's what it is. At its basic level, that's really all it is." She looked up again when they suddenly stopped dancing, the rest of the crowd flowing around them seamlessly.

"Now that you have a handling on this, let's say we pick up the pace and test your aptitude a bit." He turned her gracefully back toward the center of the floor.

"What? Wait, what are you doing, I can't go that fast! I don't even know what you're doing! What I should be doing!" She tried slowing him down, but felt helpless against his resolve. "Just because the tune is fast doesn't mean we have to—"

"Those around you can see whatever you want them to see, you control that much," he said, a small twinkle in his eyes as he increased their pace in intervals. "However, Laura, there are some things you just can't always control initially. Whatever you feel in the current situation, if that's how you want to perceive it as, then let yourself enjoy that much. Does it really matter what those around you may think?"

"I…suppose not…"

"If I may label it, you could simply dance with blinders, to put a phrase to it. And as for not knowing what to do, just take my lead.

It's my job to teach you."

* * *

A slender young man stood near the entry way, standing stiffly on the small balcony that overlooked the dance hall. He scoffed, smiling maliciously out at the room, then back at another man standing near him.

"Seems we have a ballet history, the bloomin' dullard." He looked out at the dance hall, eyeing Professor Layton, sneering. "Caught quite the little minnow, he did. Laura Haris. A bit too close for a professor and a student, don't you think, Percy?"

"Looks like a clean, proper dance to me, Edward," Percy admittedly honestly. "After all, it's Hershel Layton. The man has nothing so close to a smudge on his resume."

"Perhaps. At least, not _yet_." He let out a low laugh, almost on the brink of maniacal. "Little bitch, thought she'd hide her identity with that get up? Who's she trying to impress? Or maybe hide from? Say, Percy, ever been drunk?"

The other man shook his head nervously, hands shaking. "Edward, you're starting to sound a bit paranoid. I don't think she's hiding her identity, or impressing anyone."

"Answer my question!" Edward snapped, pupils retracted as the light from a wall sconce flickered in his eyes.

"Well, not recently, no. Nothing good comes out of that, you know, being drunk. Don't you care about what our parents would think?"

Edward snorted. "Our parents? My mother is a weak wench, poor soul, and my father, a blazing lunatic. The man doesn't know genius when he sees it. As don't the professors. So to answer your question, no, I honestly don't give a flying bloody _fuck_ about what our _parents_ think."

He fingered a small vial, cupping it in his palm.

"I'm about to weigh in on one of Professor Layton's weaknesses," he said softly, glancing around him to make sure no one was listening.

"And what would those be?" Percy asked, unknowing.

"You'll find out soon enough. That goody two shoes won't know what kicked him in the asshole. It gives me a thrill, knowing he will experience a humiliation the likes of which I've had placed on me. Maybe a bit worse. I feel a slight sense of guilt…oh wait! There it goes." He giggled, an evil glint in his eyes. Percy cowered a bit, unable to face him directly.

"What do you plan to do?"

"A grand undoing," he said with a sort of airy growl, arms raised to the ceiling. "Something that will take years if tonight doesn't go as planned. But…that is just as well. Plan B is actually a lot more desirable. However, I couldn't pass up this opportunity. The cogs are moving. Regardless, I'm patient." He pocketed the vial. "Now then. Let's see if the Professor and his darling kiss-ass beauty can handle a bit of tabloids. All it takes is one instance of pedophilia and his career is _dead_. As dead as the rocks he digs up."

He turned to the balcony ledge, resting his palms on the railing. He chuckled several times, each laugh racking his body.

"Not yet 18, little Laura. It's just perfect enough."

Percy wrung his hands together, unsure of whether or not it was in his favor to continue keeping up with the Jones'.

Or the Chancey's.

* * *

It was an ethereal experience, almost out of body. Being pulled back and forth, spinning, floating, soaring almost, dancing was something never considered, but it was fulfilling in ways Laura never felt she would ever need to be fulfilled. Mentally, it was as close to flying as she could ever get; her spirits felt so light, she might as well have spun off into oblivion, had the Professor not been holding her as tightly as he was.

He was right; she needed secured. The amount of centripetal force experienced during all of the spinning would have sent her flying off into the crowd like an unbalanced centrifuge. But her feelings couldn't be contained, and she let them continue to swirl about without analysis. And for that moment, the allowance to take five: that was what she was most grateful for.

She disregarded the lookers-on, now clapping and cheering as they were most likely the only two in the entire room capable of handling the instruments' musical battle. She didn't even know if it was a tango, a waltz, a jazz number; she wasn't even thinking. It was almost transcendent, as if neither needed to think about the other's movement, everything flowed into place perfectly. He didn't look it, but it was certain Professor Layton had more flexibility and stamina than he let on.

Laura met him back in the middle for one last set of steps, another spin. Her eyes met his temporarily, and for the moment, there was nothing antagonizing about what she felt inside. For the moment it was okay to accept that she loved being in his presence, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps it was the energy, the chemistry, whatever happened to the brain when lending the body to such spiritual uplifting, but whatever it was, it was almost sobering and elevating at the same time.

In a matter of seconds, it ended, ended without all the fanfare just established in their flurry motion. They were close enough to feel the breathing of the other, both only then realizing the stress just put on their bodies. Everything slammed back to earth, emotions grounded, mind and body again on the same plane.

Laura let out a small nervous laugh, suddenly feeling embarrassed to look the Professor in the eyes. What had she just done?

Those around clapped and laughed, many slapping the Professor on the back and giving long-winded compliments. He accepted them politely, but inside, a hurricane of emotions had been washing through his viscera. He somehow felt different in those moments in a way he never had before. He watched as his student shyly took compliments from those around her, graciously noting that she wasn't as good as 'the Professor'.

'_Professor…yes, that's what I am. I was just teaching her something new, as my job dictates I must._'

Headmaster Ginlade made his way through the congregation of people and grabbed him by the shoulders. Astonishment was plastered across his red face.

"Hershel! Hershel, my good man! Look at you! What did I tell you, a right Fred Astaire! And our brilliant prodigy, Miss Haris! You learned that much in one session? Tell me you had prior experience!"

She shook her head, laughing as she followed him to the exit. "I tell you, I have not."

"Layton, are you sure you're in the right outfit? Suppose you should teach dance at Gressenheller, or Grissom's…"

"Good Heavens, Morris! You're too flattering. And I'm sorry, I can't take you up on that suggestion," he laughed, lifting his hat and wiping his brow.

The rest of the walk into the hallway was a blur, those present all trying to get a look or a handshake with either Laura or Professor Layton. Laura ducked out of sight, finding the attention to be more asphyxiating than the dancing. She felt guilty leaving the Professor to the desires of the audience, but was relieved when it let up quicker than it started.

"You emerge unscathed!" the Headmaster bellowed, laughing deeply, pushing Professor Layton through the door and into the hall. "Are you really returning so early?"

Nodding, Layton smiled at Laura. "Indeed, I am in need of a refreshing shower after that display. If you'll excuse me. Thank you for this fine evening, Headmaster."

"Be sure to grab a hot drink as you go out. It's chilly out there! Do you need a cab?"

The Professor shook his head, removing his hat and fanning himself with it. "Hardly. This place feels like a sauna."

They walked to the exit and requested their coats, Laura additionally collecting her award paraphernalia. While waiting, a lean young man with a tray walked up to them.

"Retiring for the evening, you two?"

Laura nodded.

"Indeed we are, young man," Layton responded, taking his coat and putting his arms into it. "Have you been helping out this evening?"

"Yes, I have been. Would you allow me to do you one more service before you leave?" He offered his tray to them, two disposable mugs steaming from the top. "Please take a drink, courtesy of Big Ben Catering. And do take care outside, it's quite cold."

Layton eyed the tray carefully, then the waiter. "Tea?"

"Rather, it's cider."

"Ooh! I will take it if it's apple cider," Laura squealed, surprising the Professor. "It's really the only warm beverage I'll drink." She grabbed a cup after putting her coat on. "Thank you so much."

The young man pushed the tray towards Layton. "And for you, sir?"

He shook his head, a queer smile on his face. "No thank you. I'm already quite warm, I'll make it to the hotel without freezing."

Chuckling, the waiter earnestly continued. "You say that now, but later, you'll surely regret it. Perhaps your friend here wants two?"

"One is quite enough," the Professor answered for his student. Laura was about to respond, but closed her mouth. "Thank you for your kindness. Good evening."

The cold air hit sharply into their faces, turning both Laura and the Professor's cheeks a bright shade of pink. Small snowflakes started to fall slowly to the pavement, instantly melting. Laura held fast onto her cup.

"Lovely. I'm glad it's real cider and not that stuff from a packet that you add water to."

"I'm glad you enjoy it. However, don't you find it odd that no one else seemed to be served at the end?" he asked, staring into the dark sky.

Laura looked into the steam coming from her cup. "Hmm, now that you mention it, that is strange indeed. Perhaps they were catering to us because we won awards?"

"That's a decent observation, one I hadn't thought of, but it doesn't eradicate my suspicion."

He pulled out a pair of gloves, quickly putting them on. They walked quietly as Laura sipped her drink. The Professor hopped to her other side, nearest the road.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked, giggling.

"It's only appropriate for myself to take the side nearest the road. It's the most dangerous part, after all."

She laughed. "I'm not a delicate flower, you know."

"Still, it's—"

"Your duty as a gentleman?" She turned and smiled.

"Well, yes, that's just as I was going to say." He returned the grin. "Completing my sentences now, are you?"

Laura took in a gulp too quickly, burning her tongue. "Ah, bloody hell, oh my, I'm sorry!" She put her hand to her mouth. "I didn't mean to say that."

"A sharp tongue to match sharp wit is not the best combination," he said, a tone of admonishment in his voice.

"What? Well, I… Is that a compliment or… Oh, as if you've never slipped!" She took to avoiding sidewalk cracks and ignoring him temporarily, but the Professor somehow always regained her attention.

"Say, does that cider taste any different from usual?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No, why do you ask?"

"I still can't get over the fact that we were served out of all those people."

"Perhaps you just didn't notice those who were given a drink," she insisted, shrugging. "Too bad you didn't take one. Now you're forced into your gloves, you're so cold!"

"Oh well. What do you plan on doing once we arrive back at the hotel?"

Tossing her cup into a nearby rubbish bin, she rubbed her hands together and blew warm air against them. "I suppose I'll get cleaned up. I'm a bit eager to watch television again. I don't have one at home."

"Is that so?" Layton asked, thoroughly shocked. "I thought everyone had a television nowadays."

"My father doesn't think they offer anything useful. He only uses one when he's keeping track of his voter tallies, and that's at the neighbor's house."

"I see." He looked back up into the dark abyss, hoping to see stars. "A lovely evening. It's only 8:30. Shall we take a detour?"

Before even waiting for a reply, he turned down a main road, the street lined with Christmas lights. All the trees along the sidewalk were strung with lights and silver garland, the storefronts decked with holly and other ornamental decorations.

"More than a month away and it's already so festive," Laura observed, sighing.

"Hmm."

As they passed by store display windows, Laura wondered what she should get her parents for the holiday this year. Each year she tried to find something fitting for them, but there really was nothing they wanted, nothing they _needed_ even, except for Christmas candy or gift cards. Luckily, they were the only people she ever bothered about concerning gifts, but _this_ year…

'_I have to get the Professor something!_'

She watched to see if anything caught his eye. He never made so much as a passing glance at all the displays, never showing more interest to one thing over another. She wondered whether he was swamped with gifts during the holiday season, and whether it would even make a difference, should she decide to give him something.

"Professor Layton, how do you celebrate Christmas?"

He slowed his walking speed, turning towards her slightly. "Well, I attend a church service in the evening, and typically I have been visiting Dr. Schrader, a dear friend of mine, afterwards for many years. Several other faculty members join us as well. Last year, Dean Delmona from Gressenheller came, as well as Headmaster Ginlade, actually."

"Do professors give each other gifts?"

He thought a moment. "I suppose they do, but I don't recall anyone doing so last year. Oh yes, actually, we did. We exchanged our most favorite essays from students in the courses we had taught in. It was a real laugh, since most of the essays were honestly awful."

Laura frowned with dissatisfaction.

'_Not the answer I was expecting, but…_'

"I see, how about your students?"

"Now that is a different story. Typically, I get presents that range from baked goods, homemade candles, tea paraphernalia, winter garments like gloves or scarves… Those sorts of things. Any reason you're curious?"

She shook her head, trying to remain convincing. "No, I just wondered if it's annoying to get presents from such a large source. Surely, you must get swamped!"

"Well, not everyone gives me a gift, and let's just say some of them are not quite as savory as I'd prefer them to be… Some students have a strange sense of humor. Those get tossed out."

Laura became quiet, wondering what unsavory sorts of things someone would give to their Professor, when she thought of what people like Millie would give.

'_Probably a box of condoms or something derogatory. All anonymously of course._'

"Well, we're back." He held the door open for her and they walked to the elevator.

Laura put her coat carefully onto a hanger near the entrance of the hotel room and walked slowly to her joined room. Layton followed suit, removing his coat and sweater. He left his shoes at the entrance.

"Laura, aren't you going to take your shoes off?"

She nodded, but continued to her room. Walking over to the sink, she leaned against the cabinet, looking herself down in the mirror. Her eyes began to feel hazed over, as if miniature clouds were floating across her pupils. Surely she wasn't so tired that it would just hit her all at once?

Splashing her face, she tried to cast off the heavy sensation now creeping through her arms. It was as if it started in her brain, a warm, spreading sort of feeling, traveling through her brain stem, and down into her shoulders, her biceps. It was like a heat wave creeping into her blood, leaking into all the capillaries like ants scurrying in an ant hill.

Layton walked into her room.

"Laura, did you hear me?"

"Huh?" She gazed over at him from the sink.

"I asked if you'd like some tea. I have some made cold, if you'd like."

She smiled dopily. "Oh, yes. That sounds awfully delightful." She tried to walk straightly to her bed, sitting heavily upon the maroon bedspread.

The Professor stepped towards her cautiously. "Laura, are you feeling alright?"

She raised a hand to her forehead, trying to discern her temperature. "I might have a fever. There's…a strange heat behind my forehead. It's as if I'm thinking on overload, but…I am trying to fight it off, like… My brain is going a mile a minute and I can't help but just talk about it but I don't feel I'm controlling it and—"

Layton rushed to her side, sitting down next to her. He felt her face with the back of his hand.

"You don't seem to be warm, as with a fever, yet you look flushed. And not from the cold. Laura, look at me directly." He held her chin up so that she'd look straight at him. If it weren't for the necessary urgency, he would have perhaps been more easily captivated, but now, he was searching for answers.

Her eyes seemed dead as she gave him a strange grimace.

"I think…there's something wrong with me… I'm not quite thinking straight, Professor. I…I don't know what's going on."

She tried to stand, using his shoulder as a support. Grabbing her arm firmly, the Professor attempted to steady her. It was like trying to keep a large baby from taking a dive into the floor while learning to walk.

"Laura, you need to stay seated. It's not safe for you to attempt standing."

"But, I can't just sit around all night! What will everyone say? Come now, Professor, it's much too early to sleep." She fell forward onto Layton's legs, palms slamming into his thighs. He winced and yelped in pain as her nails dug into him, trying to stabilize herself.

"Come now, Laura, do your best to—blimey, what on earth!—good _Lord_, this is not good." He finally got her to lay down on the bed, eyes listless. Her lips, however, remained in a perpetually crazed smile. She laughed dryly, her giggles slowly developing into a quiet yet hysterical cackle.

"Professor, there's definitely something not right. I can't recall your first name."

He stood at the edge of the bed, dumbstruck. "My first name? What in creation does that even matter?" He felt completely hopeless. Whatever was happening to his student was frightening, and it was getting more bizarre and creepy as the seconds went by. Her complete change in personality was sobering, as she no longer had the proper, traditional mannerisms that he had grown accustomed to. For a moment, he felt a real sadness, as if the girl he'd just been walking with, talking to, had vanished, and he had no way of getting her back.

'_Is this what it feels like to lose someone close to oneself?_'

Then he immediately thought of her father, a strict man of very little patience. He was certainly awaiting a call from his only daughter.

"In this condition…?"

Laura weakly sat up, facing her teacher. He broke out of his self-pity and crawled next to her, trying to get her to look at him squarely in the face.

"Laura, can you hear me?"

"Do I? Yes. Yes, I certainly do, do, do. Haha! That has a nice ring, ing, ing to it."

"Do as I say: breathe into my face."

She looked at him puzzled, but with a sideways grin. "Breathe, into your face? That sounds like something some weirdo kinky guy would say."

There was no time for analyzing her conversation of choice, as he grabbed her wrist and forced her to sit still somewhat. "Listen, do it! Breathe on me!"

He tried to discern whether any toxins could be sensed when she breathed out, but couldn't detect anything foreign.

"I don't think it's alcohol..."

"Say, your name is Hershel, right?" She laughed as he tried ignoring her. "Do you ever get called Hershey? You know, Hershey, like the chocolate company over in America? Is that what your wife calls your? What your girlfriend calls you? Do you even _have_ a girlfriend, Professor Hershey?"

He sighed. "Laura, I just wish you'd fall asleep and work this out of your system."

"Work what out? Your failed relationship with your girlfriend? I don't know how to keep significant others, I don't ever have boyfriends!"

He walked to the main door of the hotel room and locked it securely. He didn't want anyone coming into the room unannounced. The situation was already frightening as it was.

With a tremendous amount of effort, Laura scooted herself to the edge of the bed and planted her feet firmly onto the ground.

"Say, it's quiet, it's just us. I'll teach you how to be a good boyfriend. I'll tell you what you need to do. Look, there's even a bed!" She giggled insanely to herself. "Wait, sorry. I don't have any experience. I was never good at biology either."

"Stop it. You're only speaking nonsense. You aren't Laura," he told the chilling girl in front of him. She made him shudder, disgusted that she could say such things aloud with the same innocent face as his student. He'd never been faced with such a thing, such a repulsive situation. To say the whole matter was unnerving would have been an understatement.

He made up his mind that he couldn't stand it any longer, and grabbed a small cup from the counter. Resolutely he filled it with water and threw it at her face. She dramatically fell backwards against the bed, quite taken aback. She pulled herself up, staring at him incredulously.

"You…you threw something at me?"

"Laura Haris, it seems that your drink was spiked with something undetectable by human senses. You are currently a slave of your own mind, yet I beg you to see past the clouds and try to listen to me carefully. I—" He stopped suddenly as Laura began to sob uncontrollably, her cheeks reddening as she choked on her own tears. "What in blazes…?"

"You actually, threw something. At me." She looked up at him, a fear in her eyes that appeared animalistic. "You…you _hate_ me!"

"No, no, no, Laura, please, listen to me, I merely—whoa, steady on!"

She wailed, her face stuffed into her hands. "Oh, I can't believe this, how silly I've been! I shouldn't have ever taken that cup, I can't even think, I just…I, oh, I was supposed to call father, and now I'm a wreck, and the awards, the trophy, all of it, it's all just a sham—where _are_ my treasures, my trophy, my bouquet, my award? I forgot them! It's all for naught!"

Layton exhaled heavily, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Laura, I'm very sorry I threw water at you. I just…I really didn't like what I was seeing, and I really don't know what to do. For once, I'm a bit bowled over. I wonder when the Headmaster will return, surely he might know a bit more information about those drinks…"

Laura shook her head, an almost normal smile stretched across her face. "No, no, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm appalled; I don't know how I'll face you in the morning, when my mind is clear. I just, it's like someone is controlling my movements, things that enter my mind. It's like the dam to my subconscious literally has burst, and things just come out, unfiltered. I've…never felt like this, I want to be in control and I just…" She stared off into space, her face slowly contorting as if she were to cry again. "I'm so, so, sorry. I should be able to control my own mind, but…but it's just impossible! I want to die!"

"Don't talk like that!" The Professor sat next to her and shook her shoulders gently but firmly. "It's not your fault, Laura, just try to stay calm. Look at me. Listen, I have a friend staying here this evening. He's an expert in chemical substances, perhaps he can figure out what is wrong here. If my hunch is correct, I believe you were doped up by something in that drink. I'm not sure who would do such a thing or for what end, but I can only imagine what would have happened, were we to both consume it." He silently was thankful for his intuition, but wished he could have gotten Laura to decline. More is the pity. He sighed. "I don't want to leave you here alone, but I should go and find him. Do you think you can stay here by yourself?"

She nodded, leaning against the headboard. "I'm…a bit worn out now, I think…I should be alright. Don't be concerned about me."

"Well, that's one request I can't fulfill," said the Professor with a worried smile. "I'll be back soon. Just rest." He turned to leave.

"Um, Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever I said before, I vaguely remember it but... Please just…disregard it. I wasn't in my right mind."

"I won't even give it a second thought. Now then, rest."

Her eyes closed slowly, watching him through a ribbon's width of visibility. He smiled and turned to leave again. "Professor, one last thing."

He swung around again, becoming impatient. "Laura, I should really hurry to Dr.—"

"Why are you doing all this?"

"Doing what, helping you?"

"Yes. Caring about the situation. Is it because you might lose your job if you don't? You know, actually, most people might just let this go. You might become a suspect, should the police find out. Maybe they'll think that _you_ drugged me."

He smiled, amused. "Laura, you do realize that _people_ are more important than _careers_. I'd rather see you well and yourself than fuss about my job. Besides, there's nothing to worry about, concerning myself. I already have too much evidence to refute against such a claim.

And to answer your question, I'm not doing this by force. I'm doing this as a good friend."

He left it at that, and walked into the other room. Laura heard the locks sliding back, and the soft thud of the heavy door close. She busied herself with a pattern in the bedspread, trying to run her eyes along the seemingly infinite threading. Losing her concentration at the vertex of a diamond and the cross-section of a zigzag, she sighed into the sheets, the warmth of her breath pushing back against her cheeks. Just as she was surrendering to the falling sensation between consciousness and dreamland, the door in the other room opened, almost inaudibly. She expected someone to enter into her area, but instead she saw the light go out, heard a shuffle of sheets, and then the door opened and closed again.

Silence. Although she still was coming off of the climax of the drug, she started speculating who could have come into the room. Her mind was slowly growing accustomed to her normal speed of thought, the cogs oiling up once again, the familiar whirring of dozens of thoughts, possibilities, options flying about, rebounding off the walls of her brain.

The door opened again with a slight squeak, accompanied by the low whisper of her professor. She heard another person grunt in agreement. Both entered the room in haste.

"Laura, are you awake? This is Dr. Grum. He's a specialist in medicine and harmful substances, and he's going to try to discern what it was that you consumed earlier." Layton helped her sit up, casually removing her hair clip and pulling her hair away from her cheeks. She felt herself blush, but was certain her face was already red.

Sitting up, she realized she wasn't yet rid of the substance, as she felt light headed and weak. She glanced quickly at the doctor. He sported a large pair of glasses with thick lenses to match, and a black pointed goatee. His hair was dark and curly, giving him the appearance of a dull clown.

"There, there, Fraulein. Nahsty beet of drugging we got here, ja?" He checked her vitals, pressing a stethoscope to her chest while holding a flashlight to her eyes. She blinked, feebly shying away from the beam. "Ja, your eyes, hmm. And your heart rate is racing, do you feel tired?" She nodded. "Hmm. When did you first drink?"

"It was about an hour ago," said the Professor. "She probably finished it after seven to eight minutes' time."

"Fahst acting, very quick. I'm surprised you aren't out cold, with your body veight. Yes," he looked in a small pocket-sized book he'd opened in his lap, "certainly Sandman's Serum. Das correct."

Laura looked at him with amusement. "Sandman's Serum?"

"It is extremely illegal and strictly monitored in Great Britain, so I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. Sink of it as edible chloroform, it's potency makes it almost instant. And, unfortunately, it is impossible to detect when consumed, and even now vithin your body. Should I do chemical testing on you, I vould have a painful time trying to pick up on it. To be honest, I'm very surprised it didn't vork sooner on you. Meant to make you very loopy, followed by drifting into deep sleep. Someone vanted to play Sandman, apparently," said Dr. Grum, closing his book. "But, under supervision, you have nothing to vorry about. Herr Layton is a vonderful candidate to vatch over you. After a good night's sleep, you'll be like new in the morning."

He patted Laura on the head as he stood. "Vonderful. You have nothing to vorry about, Hershel. Though I can only imagine how frightening it must have been. It's a very strange narcotic. Some people react more strangely than you described to me about her."

"Thank you, Ludwig. You've been most helpful," he said appreciatively. "I'm surely in your debt."

Grum shook his head, holding up a palm-out hand. "No, it is fine. After all, it is my job! Luckily it vasn't something dangerous. You have a good evening, both of you."

He exited with a stiff wave and a broad toothy grin. The Professor sat heavily on the bed, sighing.

"Well, I suppose we have nothing to do now but get to sleep. It's been quite the night. How are you feeling?"

"Well enough, I suppose," she said, smiling jadedly. "First time being drugged, I have to admit."

"That's more than I can say for myself," he laughed. "Shall I call your father for you? We could just say you were busy with photographs and such, and you fell asleep early."

"That should do. I will call him in the morning to confirm that. And, needless to say, please don't mention all of this. He'll have Scotland Yard out to escort me back home, and I will never hear the end of it."

Professor Layton stood and walked to the single window, drawing the curtains closed. "Understood. If there's anything you need, make sure to call out to me."

She gasped, as if recalling something. "Oh, there's something. When you left the room to get Dr. Grum, someone entered the room. I thought it was you, but, even though I felt dizzy, I noticed the light go off, and a ruffling sound."

The Professor's brow furrowed. "Someone entered and turned off the light? What was the sound like?"

"It sounded like bed sheets, or fabric, like," she dragged her arm across the bed to simulate the noise, "like that. Something dragging on the bed. I didn't bother getting up to look, I apologize…"

"No, that's completely forgivable. But yes, I wondered why the light was off when I came back, I just wondered whether I might have shut it off and not remembered." He ran to the other room, looking about. "Yes, Morris' suitcase is missing. It could only have been the Headmaster."

He paced about, hand at his chin. "I wonder why he wouldn't have stayed, why he would come only for his suitcase. It's now around 9:30. Certainly, he should be back."

Laura felt her eyes closing without permission. She lazily watched her teacher walk around slowly, as if following a maze in the carpet. "Professor Layton, I'm a bit tired. Would you mind if I turned the light off?"

He raised his head sharply, neck cracking. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry. I was lost in thought. Yes, I'll switch it off for you." A flick of the switch, and the room was cast into darkness, a faint moonbeam leaking onto the carpet from the window.

She sensed him walk closer to the bed. "Thank you for everything this evening, I'm sorry it had to turn out so poorly," she said, almost a whisper.

"It's not your fault. Please don't feel responsible. I will check with the catering business and the conference center tomorrow, see if I can't find a bit more information. Someone wanted us drugged for some reason; I won't let this just rest." He handed her the hair clip he removed from earlier. "Seems I pocketed this. Bad habit."

"Oh, thank you. What is the plan for tomorrow?"

The Professor grumbled. "Ah, yes. I'm heading a workshop tomorrow for a few of the professors. I have to be there at 7:30 AM. You're free to do as you please. This area has a nice shopping district, if you like. I'll be finished for the day at 4:30. Perhaps, if you're up to it, we could explore the city further, by car even?"

Happy for the darkness, Laura beamed, confident the lack of light hid her face. "Oh yes, that sounds fun. I don't get to go out often to have adventures."

Layton laughed softly. "That may be the strongest answer you've ever given. Minor observation."

Blushing, she resolved to keep her tone in check. "Well, it's just…yes, I _can_ get excited for some things, honestly!"

"I'll look into what's around here. Do you have any food preferences?"

"Oh yes, I suppose I have to eat. Well, I'll just have something inexpensive. Like, an apple."

"An apple?" he chortled. "Has that serum worn off yet?"

Had the room been a bit lighter, she'd have made sure he could see her scorn. "Well, my funds are limited. I don't have a monthly salary like you do."

"And that's why I'm treating you to dinner," he said in an unwavering tone. "Research the area tomorrow during your travels, and pick a place. I'll try to grab along the Headmaster, if I can find him. Regardless, I'll take you somewhere. And don't worry about the price."

He retreated to the door frame, pulling the door around until Laura could barely make out his outline. "Rest well. See you tomorrow afternoon."

She gave a small smile, even though she was filled to bursting with excitement. "Thank you again. Good night."

The door shut. Laura listened to his footfalls fade as he walked to various parts of the other room, obviously turning on the light as it bled underneath the door.

She was tired, the drug doing its final duty, but her eyes were wide open. Her brain was wide open. She felt her heart rate increase, but not as a result of the substance trying to leave her body. She was thinking about the next day, one of the few times she could explore on her own without anyone to bother her. She could look at anything, think about anything. And, to top it off, some of the time would be spent with the only person she trusted as of late.

"How exciting, I'm thoroughly thrilled," she whispered. "Oh my, I can look at stores, and read through books if there's a library, and maybe I can find a souvenir. Maybe I'll try something local, maybe a bakery, or a café." She lay on her back and imagined potential scenes playing out, the black ceiling acting as a screen template.

'_I'm most eager for dinner, I wonder where to go? I can pick anything, but I _do_ feel bad if he should pay. Although, father gave him quite a pick of his pocketbook. Suppose I should choose something he doesn't like? Well, I'll ask him about it tomorrow._

_It's so exhilarating and complicated, it's as if it were…a…date…_'

Nervousness entered her mind, the same nervousness she had each time after spending a particularly rewarding time with the Professor. It didn't matter if it were a review session, a tea sampling, a rugby game. Every time it was the same worrisome, vexing feeling she'd had after being around him for a certain period of time. It always came after the exciting and floating-on-air parts. The ones she would rather have. Not the guilty ones.

"Well, he did say that…I was a good friend. I'm just a teacher's pet, it's like that. That's all it is," she muttered, somewhat with confidence.

Somewhat knowing, by leaps and bounds, that she had a tendency to bury her treasures.

* * *

**END.**


	13. CHAPTER 13: STILLE NACHT

**I realized too late that….college semesters and scheduling in England are probably different than in America. I fail. This is based on typical American college schedules, which start in August, have a Christmas break in December, start up again in January at some point, then end in May. It varies, but that's the most common yearly schedule.**

**I'M NOT ACCURATE. FAIL. –punishes self-**

**Anyway, here's the 13****th**** chapter. It's a much shorter than the last. Last one, I needed to get a lot of details in, because they are important for subsequent chapters way way waaaaaay off into the future. Maybe you'll catch on to the clues, and you can solve my cruddy puzzles. Hahaha.**

**I laughed a lot during this chapter. I don't know why, it's not really good, and there's not much here, but picturing it in my mind, as a comic is HILARIOUS (I think in comic format first btw…. .com). I plan on drawing a few panels for this sometime…hopefully soon!**

**Also, if any of you kiddos have story predictions or ideas, LET ME KNOW! I really want to know, because it helps me learn how the story is making you guys think, since you aren't really omniscient, as the readers. On my end, I already know what's going to happen, so…..it's a bit different. I wonder what you guys are thinking, so let me know! PLEASE.**

**Also, if you find yourself "ugh"-ing at any point (since feelings/emotions garbage makes me "ugh" haha), hang tight. The action starts up for real after. There's going to be some really mental stuff going on. AND DEATH! Oh…..maybe….we'll see… ;)**

**Already suffering the "New" Year,**

**Kelsey/Ken 8D**

* * *

**CHAPTER 13: STILLE NACHT**

"Come now, Laura, the presents aren't just going to buy themselves, you know!"

Mrs. Haris pushed through a store's front door, quickly sweeping the premises for anyone she might know. It was always her first action when shopping: scout for people, scout for friends, scout for gossip. Laura secretly prayed that no one in this store knew of her mother even in the slightest bit, even 5th cousins twice removed.

She had accompanied her mother to 10 stores already since 7 AM on a cold, flurried December morning, the weekend starting with yawns and scorn. Most of the time was spent waking herself up as her mother either tried clothing on, rummaged through clearance bins, and haggled with the cashier. She hadn't so much as had time to worry about her own gift buying as having to keep a list of her mother's presents.

"Now then, Laura, what do you think your father will want this year?" her mother asked, picking through a pile of scarves. "We've gotten him gloves, watches, underwear in the years past—"

"How about a bottle of cologne?" Laura suggested, really not knowing what her father needed or would even want. She was sure her parents had all they needed, what could one _possibly_ give to them?

Her mother shook her head. "Too simple, too ordinary. We need something exciting this Christmas! Your father has been running a very stressful campaign, and we need to alleviate that." Within five minutes, they'd left the little shop and took to the streets again, joining the other shoppers in a flourish of colored bags and haphazard snowflakes. They walked for several minutes, Laura following her mother past a small yet packed store. Her mother gave it a glance and walked by, but Laura stopped, giving the display case a closer look than she'd given anything else that morning. She smiled.

"Mum, I'll just be a moment. I have a gift to buy for…someone."

Mrs. Haris spun around in a fuss, as if she were being harassed by another bitter shopper. "Well, I'm continuing on to the department store. Their sale starts at 10, so I can't miss it."

Laura watched her mother lug her collection of bags down the sidewalk. The arrangement of the bags in each of her hands reminded her of giant, misshapen pom-poms. Economic cheerleading at its best.

With a small sigh, Laura walked inside of the store to obtain her prize.

"Five times 200, that's 1,000 cookies!"

Surrounded by her typical set of girls, Millie was admiring her cookie platter that she'd had delivered to the campus dining hall. Each of the others were carrying small trays and pans of homemade pies, brownies, fudge, puddings, and a variety of other traditional Christmas desserts. Everyone was expected to bring a dish to share for the annual campus Christmas party; Millie hadn't gotten the memo about bringing a dish (in the singular) and planned on feeding the student body herself, catering with fancy hors d'ourves as well as dessert.

It was the last day of classes for the semester, and after classes had finished, students and professors alike were invited to the party to kick off the holiday break. It was actually a highly anticipated event, as students from neighboring colleges (including Gressenheller) were invited as well. Holiday food was a primary focus, along with gingerbread house contests, wreath making instruction tables, and gift exchanges. Many of the girls liked to stand and giggle under mistletoe, strategically placed in door frames and over punch bowls, trying to pull in the occasional unsuspecting Gressenheller boy.

Laura was not amused as she sat down her dish to share, Millie and her gang trying to persuade a particularly surly student from Gressenheller to try the extravagant cookies (accompanied by mistletoe) rather than the ones provided from the college. She rolled her eyes and got herself a cup of lemonade.

"This looks divine; is this your dish, Laura?" Professor Layton carried a large plate already half covered in miniature portions of several of the table's dishes, sweet and salty foods merged in a jumbled mess. He grabbed the spatula and took the first serving. "Oh dear, the first bit always is the hardest to remove…"

"Yes, that's mine. Don't expect too much," she said with a cockeyed grin. "It's one of my favorites but it's not very impressive."

"Nonsense, it looks and smells delicious. What is it, might I ask?"

"I don't know of a specific name, but we call it 'Reuben bake'. It has the ingredients of a Reuben sandwich, but in casserole form." She grimaced as he took a bite. "Hopefully you don't have any side effects. I used a strong sauerkraut."

"It's quite clever, and very good. Do you have German heritage?"

"My mother is German, but her family moved to England when she was three. So, yes." She took some for herself. It was her favorite meal, after all. But she was sure she'd have most of it, if not all, to take home afterwards.

"Very good. You know, the history behind the Reuben is actually uncertain. Many believe that it was the creation of a man from Lithuania, living in Nebraska, United States. Other accounts tell of a German-born man from New York offering it in his delicatessen. It's rather hard to put a history on some foods, especially when cuisines from many countries mix, a fusion of sorts…"

'_Great, historical food lecture_,' Laura angrily whispered inside her brain.

"But I digress. I make it a habit to try a bite of everyone's dish at these parties. If you'll excuse me, there's a pudding I see that has my name on it…" She gave a short laugh. "Oh, and I have a gift for each of the students in the archaeology class, so don't leave without yours!"

A present? From the Professor? She chewed thoughtfully, wondering what he would possibly give to all of the girls. Her mind jumped from the gift of bonus points to just a simple Christmas card, but he made it a point to let her know not to leave it behind…

'_Maybe it's food, like cookies._'

She walked around for some time, soaking up the social interactions going on around her like a sponge. Many of the girls in her class were trying to talk with Gressenheller students or to their professors, trying to raise their grades before semester grades were posted. Millie caught Laura's eye and smirked.

"Have you heard what I'm giving the Professor, Miss Laura?"

"I suppose if I had, he might be in the know as well, considering talk spreads quickly around here," she said between bites of food.

"Or, because you spend so much time with him, you'd just blab!" she exclaimed, puffing out her chest. "Review lessons, spending the whole weekend together!"

Laura eyed her carefully, glaring daggers. "It was an academic conference. I barely even saw him." She knew the last half of information was somewhat fabricated, as she had seen him during the whole afternoon and evening of the second day of the trip, and most of the third as well, as he was her ride home. She had even slipped into some of his lectures, mostly to see the crowd that attended, but also to know how the Professor addressed a professional audience rather than a group of giggly college girls. She'd fallen asleep during one, and was almost certain he'd noticed since he made subtle jokes about his lectures being stronger than 'Sandman's Serum' during dinner. As if it weren't obvious as a joke…

In addition, the Headmaster had disappeared entirely, and not until Sunday morning had they any word on his whereabouts. Supposedly he had taken a cab to return home in a rush, his wife ill with a high fever. It was enough to excuse him for slipping into the hotel room and stealing away without so much as a word. Regardless, it meant that the original three ended up being only the Professor and Laura, but Millie shouldn't have known anything about that.

One of the girls, Abegail, shook her head fervently. "My step-father was there and said he saw a professor dancing like mad with some young girl during the commencement dinner, and the description sounded a lot like you and Hershel. Sounds a bit more than just 'academic'!"

Millie ground her teeth at the news update. "_Dancing_? This is news to my ears! My word, Laura, you're becoming quite the little temptress!"

"Not your nasty type of dancing. The honest kind. Like, ballroom, perhaps. I don't know, I don't dance. But it was a _real_ type of dance, not sappy romantic ones that you are thinking," Laura said irritably. "He offered as a gentleman, as many of the men there were. There's nothing special to it at all. Is it so weird to dance?"

"That's very much true. And as for being special, as it stands, you're now one of the most loathed students here, seeing as you took the throne of our beloved Edward. Well, of course, _we_ still love you," Millie said, cackling.

Laura waved her off, walking away to try the punch before she used the verb variety instead.

After an hour and a half, the attendees started to die down, those working the wreath making table sweeping up needles and attendants making sure the food trays were removed. Laura had sat in a corner, reading a book, when she noticed several students from her archaeology class gathering around Professor Layton, who'd been speaking with a small group of male students from the University a while ago. She put her things away and walked leisurely to the outside of the circle of girls.

"Alright, whoever hasn't taken one, please break through to the front. If you have one, please leave room for your classmates to come up, thank you." Professor Layton was handing out little boxes that had been arranged and stacked in a larger cardboard box. Each had a silver or gold bow on the lid with a tag that had each girl's name on one. Laura looked around as all the girls in front of her opened their boxes.

"Oh, it's a rock of some sort…" one said.

"Mine's a piece of pottery! It has a label… Pueblo ruins, North America," said another, squinting to read the tiny print.

"Oh, they are all from archaeological digs or famous landmarks from around the world!"

They all began comparing what little trinket they got and from where they were obtained. Laura finally reached the front when the Professor sighed loudly.

"Seems I didn't bring them all. I remember now they didn't all fit. You last few will have to come by my office, I have them in there. My apologies." He folded up the box but quickly dropped it at his feet when Millie stuffed a huge box in his face. "Whoa!"

"Here, Professor! It's a gift from my family, but mostly me, since I went to find it!" She shoved it into his now empty hands and beamed. "Open it!"

"Well, alright, if you insist…" He delicately tore the paper and lifted the box's lid. "Oh, wonderful! A seat warmer for my car."

"It also gives you massages! Now you won't ever be uncomfortable because of sore muscles or the cold when you drive here!"

"Very helpful and practical. Thank you, Miss Miller. This will provide me with much needed comfort." He put it back in the box and smiled. "Now then, to my office for the rest of those…"

Laura entered the office behind a girl named Linnie and Amy, one of Millie's closest friends. The Professor rummaged through a box and handed one to each girl. "There, that should do it. Done and done."

The girls thanked him and exited. Laura walked slowly behind the girls, hanging around the office door purposefully. She opened her box with a great impatience, even though she knew the other girls had gotten rocks and similar things. She knew somehow she wouldn't be getting a rock in hers, it had to be _something_ differentiating her from the others. She didn't want to appear selfish, even to herself, but even if it wasn't something large, she wanted something different than the others. Something to let her know that she wasn't just like Millie, or Amy, or any of the other snotty girls. Maybe some sort of sign, although she didn't know what it would mean. But her subconscious screamed for something distinct as she lifted the lid.

Petrified shark tooth: Atlantic Ocean.

She read the label over again and again in disbelief. Rubbing the tooth between index finger and thumb, she tried to summon some sort of happy feeling that she'd gotten a gift, but couldn't even force one. It was as if he hadn't even thought about who should get what, just packaged them all up and slapped on tags. And this one was the most cheesy of them all. She'd seen shark teeth like that before in general stores at the front counter, a little trinket for small children to buy and essentially play with. She didn't even know if they were _real_ shark teeth. And now, she stood in a dead hallway at a college with one in hand, most likely made of some polymer compound.

She frowned, trying desperately to make herself feel better.

'_Maybe there's something else for you, you know, separate. It'd be weird to have others see that you've gotten special treatment from a professor… He does have to be fair, equal, impartial, at least in the eye of the public…_'

Professor Layton was straightening up all of his exam papers in folders when Laura walked back in a few minutes later, a medium sized box in tow. "Ah, Laura, pleasure seeing you again. You received your box then, correct?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you very much. I'll put it somewhere safe at home, as I collect little trinkets and knick-knacks like that."

"Oh, very good! Glad to add to your collection." He sat down at his desk and opened a drawer, stuffing folders into it.

She gulped. "Um, Professor? I have something for you."

He looked up from the desk, straightening his hat. "Oh? Why, that is completely unnecessary, Laura. You didn't have to waste your money and time on me."

Laura slid the box across the desk. "Everyone should have a gift during this season. Merry Christmas."

"Would you like me to open it in your presence, or at home?"

"If you wouldn't mind, right now," she said, becoming all the more impatient. "I want to ensure it is useable."

Taking a pair of scissors carefully, he slit off the tape holding the box lid on. A ribbon bow was also wrapped around the entire box. He removed all of the trimmings and trappings, finally removing the lid. Laura's heart beats felt like they were in her throat, beating loudly into her ear like drums. He reached in carefully and pulled out a brown silk top hat, a yellow band around the base just above the brim.

"Oh my. This is quite the gift!"

"I'm hoping it fits… I used my head in the store for measurements, just to get a general idea but… I don't know how similar the circumference is." She felt her cheeks flush crimson. "If it doesn't fit, I can get it tailored."

He removed his wool cap and replaced it with the silken one, standing in front of a small mirror on his bookshelf. "I must say, this is quite an impressive accessory. I'm really hoping you didn't spend a fortune on it! It's quite classy." He craned his neck to see it at different angles. "Thank you very much, it's a very thoughtful present."

"I'm glad you enjoy it. Oh, and I have this too." She pulled a small pouch out of her messenger bag. "This is in thanks for accompanying me to the conference last month."

He smiled as he took it, squeezing it slightly in his fingers. It had a bit of give, crunching against the pressure. "Oh, I have a strong inkling as to what this is." Unraveling the string, he breathed in the top of the bag. "Tea, very good. Always a great gift. I will surely enjoy this!"

Laura was so pleased with his reaction she'd almost forgotten her self-pity back in the hall. "Well, now you can drink that while you wear your new hat," she giggled, pointing at his new accessory.

"Christmas wouldn't be the same without a moment like that. I do enjoy my tea." He put his wool cap back on. "I'll need to plan a whole new wardrobe now, around this hat," he laughed.

"I'm sure you'll find something to match," she insisted, smiling. She wasn't sure how long she would hold out, but secretly kept hoping he'd take something out from a cupboard or drawer, something extra.

'_Another gift, somewhere, there has to be. Seriously, a plastic tooth? It's not even real! The other girls had ceramics, rocks! Real things! Even Millie had something better, a small bone or something from some crypt! At least give me something like that!_'

"Well, I suppose I'll get back to grading finals. I haven't graded yours yet, but if you contact me during break, I can let you know what you got. Have a Merry Christmas, Laura, and thank you for your caring gift." He gave her a pleasant smile, but that was all.

Laura stood stockstill for a moment, trying to offer at least a phony grin. "Yes, have…a Merry Christmas…"

She made her way to the door slowly, accepting that there wasn't anything else to receive other than his Christmas greeting. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, as she turned the door handle, she was certain there was nothing, as he already had a red pen in hand, grading.

The hall was dark, as everyone had left. No sounds came from the dining hall just to her right as she made her way to the entrance of the building, the party having ended several minutes prior. Her footfalls pulsated throughout the silent corridor. Without warning, she felt a pocket of tears resting at the base of her eyelids. Wiping the back of her hand against them, she looked at the glimmering strip across her skin, barely visible in the dim lighting.

"I'm…crying? I…don't do that. I _never_ do that. I'm—" She cupped a hand against her mouth, stifling a weak sob. "No, I'm more angry than anything. I thought people were more attuned to things like this. Especially him… I—" She almost tripped on the hem of the entrance rug, sending her into another mental fit. "Bloody rug. Confounded professors. Oh damn it all, does nobody have any couth anymore? Even 'English gentlemen'?"

She pushed the thick, wooden entry doors wide, annoyance fueling her strength. She didn't even bother putting on a hat or scarf, sure that the heat in her head would warm her facial extremities and neck enough without them.

"English gentleman, my foot. He's a puzzle in himself, but with mental pieces scattered, the Neanderthal! Too wrapped up in digging and excavating, I suppose. The dust has clouded his brain activity. And that hat _did_ cost a fortune…" she groaned, feeling ridiculous for ever allowing herself to purchase it. "Why I thought that'd be a suitable gift, is beyond even _me_."

She made the trip home, and the day went by without her permission, not that she thought she had any control over it in the first place. But her mind felt lethargic, and enduring the day was almost oppressive. Dinner tasted bland, drawing felt a waste, and nothing was interesting outdoors, even the new snowfall. It was the start of the break, yet she felt bittersweet about it.

After organizing her new plastic tooth into a spot on her bedroom shelf, she sighed, feeling a little guilty.

'_I suppose I should be grateful for anything. It really is a nice tooth, even if it _is_ plastic… Maybe it's just a plastic coating._'

_But…I still would have liked something more. But that's just me. Maybe I'm expecting too much. He's just my professor, after all. Just because _I _think he's fun to talk with, and the only human who's not a waste of oxygen…that doesn't really mean anything. Plus, that's….strictly on my end._

_I'm just one student out of many. There's absolutely nothing special about another class to teach to, and then another student. That's his life, day in, day out. It would be no different if I had to deal with a set of equations all at once. None of _those_ jump out as special, I treat them all the same._

…_but…equations aren't people. They don't have personalities. They don't talk back, or have wit, or challenging topics of conversation. They don't…have feelings. I didn't know I had any, but equations certainly don't._'

Feelings. A strange concept, indeed. The only strong feelings she'd had were induced by the piano, by nature, by mathematics. Anything knowledge-filled, anything that was challenging. All things systematic or methodical, anything that ran cleanly and surely, like weather. Always there, never faltering. Like a well oiled machine. Like God. And then there were those who meant something at one point, who were long dead, rotted, hollowed out by worms and whatever else that chewed away at her brother. That was all.

That had been all.

That was all that there should have ever been.

Laura flipped through her class notes and graded papers from the semester, red-marked puzzles and quizzes catching her eye. Her first 100% on a test, and a little note written by the Professor.

_Seems the reviews are working, even though we talk more about the world than archaeology! Let's continue next semester. :)_

_-Prof. Layton_

Her lazy smile turned into a grimace, a pit in her stomach, heart wrenched. She shivered.

Killing the lights, she shuffled herself into the cold bed sheets, feeling empty and lost. It wasn't the lack of a proper gift anymore; it was something much more emotionally damaging. Recognition made it traumatizing. Maybe it was the holiday season. Something about these times seemed all the more romantic, not in a love-ridden sense, but just dreamlike. It was as if something had been missing, but she never noticed it until the piece was right in front of her, almost like being close to finishing a jigsaw puzzle and then realizing the final piece had been swept under the rug all along.

Laying on her stomach, she buried her face into her pillow, tears blotching the cover. This time, she couldn't stop it.

'_I don't know anything about such things as 'fancying' or 'liking', but I think…I'm falling in love with my professor…_'

* * *

**END.**


	14. CHAPTER 14: SUBLIMATION

**I realized….that my chronology and time line were severely messed up, as I got my information jumbled while playing the Last Specter game. I thought that the Professor became Gressenheller's youngest professor at the age of 34, but it was actually 27. His age in the Last Specter is 34. Originally, I wanted him to be 34 in this story, thus having a roughly 16 year age gap between Layton and his freshman class students, but…it's gotta be around 10 instead, to stay canon.**

**Unless….is it important to stick to the canon storyline? Is it? I don't know. I'd prefer the bigger age gap, but then future parts in the story will have to neglect the official Layton timeline, and I may have to throw Claire out of the picture (NOT THAT I CARE...No, I really don't. o_o ). I dunno, you guys tell me. I made the Professor 27 years old in this flashback to stick with the official ages/time line. If it's not important, lemme know. TAKING VOTES. :]**

**Regardless, this chapter is long and if it's confusing, it's supposed to be. When the characters are confused, I want the readers to be just as confused. It might help you get into the story more. When you're just as screwed as the characters, you feel their pain! So be confused!**

**Also, the chapter title is a science term. All my chapter titles have subtle connections to the chapter content. See if you can get them!**

**From here on out, I plan on putting a puzzle in each chapter, so look out for that. Maybe not my own, but I'll find my favorites to give you guys.**

**I actually don't like this chapter at ALL. It was annoying to write, but...here it is.**

**AMEN.**

**Byebye,**

**Kelsey/Ken**

* * *

**CHAPTER 14: SUBLIMATION**

Not able to take the harassment any longer, Laura gave in to her parents' demands and agreed to make a trek to Professor Layton's house after they had inquired numerous times about her archaeology grade, determined to hear that it had risen to the only acceptable one (A or higher). With the holiday break underway, Laura had no means to know the outcome other than to contact her professor directly. Which, he had mentioned the last time she'd spoken with him, but she didn't let the fact on to her parents.

"What do you _mean_ you don't know his phone number?" her father had bellowed, irate that she hadn't added such a bit of information to the all-important 'List of Contacts'. "He knew _my_ number well enough when he called _around 11 PM_ during that conference, saying you'd fallen asleep! Which I find to be rubbish, as I _told_ you specifically to call before you went to the Land of Nod!"

"I'm telling you, I had it, but I must have written it on something that I had to turn in, and never got it back." She knew this was a falsehood, but talking on the phone scared her half to death. She'd rather walk through the below-freezing temperature and snow to find out her grade than to make a phone call. Although the option of avoiding the Professor was tempting…

"Well, how do you know the bloke's home address, but fail to recall the phone number? Do you really know where it is?" he tested her.

"I know it's four blocks from here, and is the only house on the block. Grissom's owns it. That's the only reason I know. I see it down the street when I walk to school," she responded quickly and without breaks, hoping it would make sense enough. "It's school property, every student knows about it. He's staying there as a visiting professor, makes it easier to not have to go back and forth every day."

Her father grumbled, looking through the front door window. "Well, I would drive you, but your mother took the car to pick up your Aunt Krista from the airport. If you're sure you can make the walk… It's bloody cold outside!"

"It's a mere ten below. It's hardly cold. And if it makes you happy…"

"That's a good girl."

But now, as she walked on the plowed sidewalk, snowy embankments piled on either side, she wondered if it wouldn't have been better to just call. She hadn't quite cleared her head of what she'd admitted to herself days ago, and was now going to be seeing the very person who drove her to mental duress.

'_Perhaps I should have at least phoned in secret to make sure he was home…?_'

Turning onto the Professor's street, it was obvious what house he was staying in, as it was the only one on its side of the street. It took up the entire length of the road for an entire block, surrounded by wrought-iron and stone fencing. Tall, slender evergreens, now covered in heavy snowy folds, took up the entire left side of the house, mimicking a tiny forest. On the right was a lonely willow, loose and withered branches hanging towards a hidden mirror of frozen pond, blanketed almost entirely by the most recent snowfall. The brick pathway to the front porch was poorly shoveled, but let the visitor know there was indeed a path to the large home.

Amazed that the place was much more impressive and ornate up close, Laura slowly walked down the path, avoiding the small drifts that had blown about the sides. The porch was massive, spanning the entire front and right side, a quaint swing moving ever so slightly in the chilly breeze. Its chains groaned.

Checking that she still had the small package she brought, she finally came to the dark wooden door and knocked three times. No sound but the crackle of leafless hedge branches and soft wind.

"Blast if he's not home, I walked all this way—"

An older woman's face appeared faintly behind the curtain on the door's window, then the sound of the deadbolt sliding back.

"Oh my, it's dreadfully cold, how may I help you, dearie?" The lady's face creased in several soft folds as she put on a cheery smile. "Are you here for the Professor?"

"Um, yes, I am. Is he present this afternoon?" Laura was certain she'd seen the woman somewhere, but couldn't recall the time or place.

"That he is," she sighed, "and not all that helpful either. But please, come inside. We'll get you settled and I'll call him over." She allowed Laura passage and shut the door, a flurry of snowflakes blowing in and dying in the heat before they had a chance to descend. She motioned to a stiff armchair that sat behind a coffee table, tea tray and snacks set out as if someone were already planning to have their afternoon tea. "Please, enjoy a cup yourself! The Professor won't mind. Are you a student?"

"Yes," Laura mumbled softly, looking about the bright room.

The little lady walked to the entrance of the dining room and cupped her hands around her mouth. "Professor, you have a visitor!"

Laura heard him shout from a distance, voice slightly muffled. The lady returned, grabbing a duster from the fireplace's mantle. "He'll be here presently, dearie. I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name."

"My name is Laura. Pleased to meet you. Although, I believe I've seen you somewhere…"

The woman jumped and laughed. "Oh my, I do believe you're right! You came by the Professor's office once, in quite a stir, poor thing. I never did know what was wrong, but I hope it's all cleared up now. Oh, the Professor's a good man, even if he isn't the cleanest of people, strangest thing really…"

"I can hear you, Rosa," the Professor said from a nearby room. Laura turned her head to see if he was visible. "A tidy room does not a gentleman make."

"I love how your definition of 'gentleman' changes every time a weakness of yours is discussed!" she chortled, waving the duster towards the direction of his voice. "I'd give my prized tea set to see you keep a room clean for more than two days!"

"I just might take you up on that, Rosa. You'd better be careful!" He finally entered the room, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. He was wearing his regular wool cap, but had on more casual clothing, khakis and a heavy ribbed sweater. He was also wearing his regular smile. "Ah, Laura! What a pleasant surprise! I thought you might be off enjoying your vacation too much to carry on with review," he laughed. "Rosa, if you will, I made a little mess in the study dusting those artifacts… The vacuum seems to only listen to you."

"It'd listen better if you'd actually turn it on!" She huffed out of the room, shaking a gnarled finger in his direction. He chuckled as he took a seat in the chair next to Laura's.

"And what brings you all the way here? Miss archaeology already?"

"Hardly. But my parents do. They'd like to know what grade I received for this semester." The more dry, the better. She hardly wanted to start in on a conversation. Just sitting next to him made her nervous. She was thankful for the single occupant chairs.

"I see. That hardly deserved a visit, surely. Did you walk?"

"I did. I enjoy the winter," she stated bluntly, diverting the subject of why she'd possibly want to walk in weather fit for snowy owls and polar bears.

He rose from his seat and walked over to a bookshelf, which Laura only now noticed wrapped around most of the room. Hundreds of books filled the shelves from ceiling to floor, some only accessible by ladder. He was currently rummaging through a folder. "Ah, yes, here we are. A B+ on the exam, an A- in the course. Well done!"

She exhaled with force, clearly irritated and not bothering to hide it. "Unless your parents are perfectionists. It's half a grade lower than their standard." Running her fingers through her hair in disgust, she stood. "Well, I suppose that's all I really came for. Oh, and this." She handed him a small white paper bag. "My parents insisted I bring you a few from Christmas. We had too many cookies. I meant to bring them on Christmas, but it got too hectic with my family coming in from elsewhere, and now my other relatives are in to celebrate the New Year... I've been busy."

The Professor peered into the bag. "Looks delicious. Thank you. If you'd like, you may stay a while. Seems Rosa's made my afternoon tea. Would you like a cup?"

"Smells like the kind I gave you."

"Good nose! It is. Please, take a seat. Tell me about your Christmas holiday. I haven't talked to anyone, save Rosa, since school ended."

She pulled her coat closer around her. "I hate to be rude, but I really must be going," she said tersely. "Thank you for telling me my grade." She made towards the door, ignoring the Professor's somewhat surprised expression.

"Hmm, will you be alright walking back? It's a bit windier since you've come."

"No pain, no gain. I'll be just fine."

He opened the door. "If you insist."

She stepped onto the porch, pulling her gloves on hastily. "Thanks again. Oh, and Happy New Year."

Layton sported a worried expression along with his signature smile. "Is something bothering you, Laura?"

Pulling on her hat, she chanced a glare. "No. Nothing. I'll be off then…"

"You told me before when something was the matter. I expect that if you need something else, you'd do the same. Is that correct?"

"Absolutely," she lied, turning to descend the porch steps. "Clear as crystal, Professor."

Within 30 seconds, she went out of view, quickly clearing the last visible area through the fence. Professor Layton closed the door silently, holding his hand to his chin as he walked back to his chair.

"Curious… She wasn't in the mood for any sort of talk, apparently. But I suppose she's a bit like that—"

Rosa came back into the room, sweat at her brow. "You broke the bloomin' vacuum! I can't believe it, it's useless!"

The Professor frowned, saddened. "I'm terribly sorry, Rosa. Can you forgive me? I seem to have found a replacement however in the closet…"

The now angry Rosa opened a thin door at the corner of the room and gasped as a brand new vacuum stood proudly in the closet. "My! God bless your soul! A brand new model! Professor, what is the meaning of this?"

"I wasn't trying to break the other one on purpose, but it seemed to work in my favor, as I've had this all along," he chuckled, forgiving Rosa's glare of knives. "Payment for going through such hard work, especially over Christmas."

"If you mean your house cleaning, it's only such a small job, really," she gleefully sputtered, changing her opinion of his messes as she looked over the new contraption.

"No, the tickets. I really appreciate it. I'm glad to know that you had connections." He sat down, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Such a small thing, really, oh my, I can't wait to test this out!" She talked up the machine merrily as she wheeled it into the study, lost in her own world.

The Professor smiled while sipping his tea, happy about some things, and concerned about others.

Especially when one of them seemed so upset at him and was walking home in a snow squall.

With only a couple of weeks' worth of vacation, it seemed that classes hadn't really taken a break after all. Laura felt no different packing her bag now on a Tuesday morning, the first day back to classes, than before the holidays, as if the break never really occurred. In her circumstances, it basically never had, as the time was anything but joyful.

She dressed warmly, putting on an extra thick pair of gloves, even though the temperature had risen slightly. The wind chill, she was certain, would freeze her hands. While walking she spotted Millie and Clara walking ahead. Upon hearing her crunching footsteps in the light snowfall, they turned around.

"Laura, back to the old grind, eh? Not that you ever left it."

"I'm sure you studied every day of break, rather than socialized for the holidays!" They giggled.

"Oh yes, I already completed the archaeology course work. That's me all over," she scoffed, irritated already. Not to mention she wasn't in the mood to see their professor. He'd sent a 'thank you' card in the post, and addressed it to her entire family, although the gift was only from her. It was a pre-printed thank you card, but he handwrote her name and his signature on the inside. He didn't mention anything except for a tiny blurb: _Thank you for your amazing gift! Enjoy the holidays!_

'_Is he just trying to not treat me any differently because he _can't_? Does he have to refrain from singling me out under _any_ circumstances, even in a thank you card?_'

"Hello, earth to Laura!"

A powdery handful of snow hit her squarely in the face, the sharp and cold chunks melting but not before cutting against her cheeks. She was initially shocked, then livid that Millie had actually picked up a loose clump of snow and whipped it in her direction. "You actually just did that? Really?"

"Well, I was trying to talk to you and you just stood there!" She snorted, spinning around and heading off towards Grissom's. "See you in class, weirdo!"

The back of Millie's blonde, curly head pretty much had made a target of itself in the few moments Laura had to debate whether or not to pack a snowball and drive it at her. Smashing her hands together furiously, she packed together the wettest bit of snow she could find. Millie and Clara were waiting at the intersection, about to cross the road to get to the college courtyard.

"I'll show you, you spoiled little—"

Frozen in place, throwing arm still extended, Laura's mouth dropped in horror as a brown coated, top hatted person had walked into view around the corner, their back taking the full force of the multilayered ice ball. The man grunted and uttered an interjection of some sort.

"I say, what is the meaning of… Miss Haris!"

She stared, stupefied as her archaeology professor had turned and faced her, as well as the original target and her witness. The loose pieces of snowball had crumbled off his back and fell to the ground but the stunned expression remained. So did the stabbing feeling that Laura had when he called her 'Miss Haris' instead of by her first name. He hadn't called her that in a while. She felt like a scolded child, admonished harshly for doing some naughty deed even when her conscience had told her not to.

"I…I didn't mean…"

"You really _musn't_ throw snowballs. It's certainly not safe, and certainly not befitting of a lady, especially one attending Grissom's." His brow was furrowed as he turned to face Millie. "Are you alright?"

Millie instantly put on a play of disgust, an air of injustice in her voice. "Oh my, I very well could be saying how hurt I was from being hit by that snowball! What would I have done, should my skull have been hit? Or my face? Who knows what could have happened, even while crossing the street! I could have been _distracted_, and hit by a vehicle!"

Laura immediately looked at her shoes, unable to move or face any of them. She felt awful, wanting to just fade to snowflakes and blend in with the banks of it along the roads. In no way did she actually intend to _hurt_ Millie, but it was in the heat of the moment that she wanted her to feel the stabbing pain of cold snow. And by no means did she _ever_ intend to hit the Professor, no matter how frustrated she was with him. Now, she was in a weird way, unsure of how to address the matter.

She followed them all across the intersection, barely listening to Millie continue her tirade. Glancing at the back of the Professor, she was sure as sin that any further bond with him was just uprooted and tossed aside to rot. What a breach in conduct. What a flaw in character. Throwing snow, how old was she, really? She broke away from them when they entered the building, retreating to the bathroom until class started. It was worse enough without the tears that had started in the corners of her eyes.

She sat in the very back row of desks once the class begun, resolving to not ever look into the Professor's face, to never answer another question in class again. Completely humiliated, she didn't even bother taking any notes, wondering how she could possibly apologize and at least show somewhat that she was remorseful. She wondered if this is what charged criminals thought like when they were honestly willing to turn over a new leaf, yet felt the need to prove they were different from before.

Archaeology took eons to finish, the Professor taking his own sweet time analyzing the Roman Coliseum and the road system during ancient times. Laura merely drove her pencil point into her notebook, spinning it around aimlessly, watching a pit form in the paper. She expected the clock to read five minutes ahead each time she looked back up at it but…only seconds seemed to make progress in that classroom, as girls giggled at the Professor's jokes. Everything seemed to be going swell in the lives of everyone else but herself. She continuously thought about the events that morning, and pools formed in her eyes each time it crossed her mind.

As Professor Layton addressed the class near the end about new material and a field trip during the new semester, Laura decided to apologize directly once everyone had left the room.

Three…

Two..

One.

"You are dismissed. See you tomorrow!"

Laura grudgingly moved herself to the front of the classroom, somewhat against her better judgment. "Um, Professor, may I have a word with you?"

His face appeared from behind his briefcase after he closed the lid. "You may. What is—?"

Against her will, the waterworks. Laura felt tears form in her eyes again, the situation at the intersection replaying in her mind as she prepared her defense. She looked at the floor quickly, hoping he hadn't seen.

Another student had entered the room and walked near the desk hesitantly. "Oh, sorry, were you talking?"

"It's quite alright, Miss Havisham. Laura, would you like to meet me in my office? I'll be there in a minute."

'_This is exactly where I _didn't_ want to end up!_'

Fanning her face, Laura sat miserably in the stuffy office, hoping her face looked redder from the heat of the room than from forcing tears back into their ducts. She hated waiting for things like this. Any moment she knew that door would open, but when? The wretched time between sitting down and door knob turning was unbearable.

A light knock, and the waiting ended.

"Ah, there you are, Laura. Hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long." She shook her head silently as the Professor made his way to the desk, setting his briefcase on the ground against it. "What seems to be irking you? You looked…subpar in class today, to put it kindly."

She would have been fine had it not been for the sympathetic look on his face and his cursed smile. It was filled with understanding, but Laura only felt disappointment. She opened her mouth to speak but choked on her on voice.

"I…I just wanted to…well… I'm so sorry." Leaning forward on her knees, she hid her face behind her hands. It took a good 10 seconds to stifle a sob, and a few seconds more of sharp breathing to stave it off. "I'm really sorry…"

"Sorry for what?"

Her head shot up. "What do you mean, 'sorry for what'? For this morning! I just…I just chucked a snowball without any second thought and… I didn't mean to hit you, honestly, I didn't. I didn't even intend to hurt Millie, well, at least not badly. No no, that sounds terrible, it's just that she—"

Taken aback, she broke off as he laughed. "I daresay she may have very well deserved it, and it was very surprising to take a snowball to the back, but I think I'm glad to have stepped in just at that moment. It saved the both of you a good deal of bitter consequences." He lifted his top hat to scratch his forehead. It was only then that Laura realized the change in accessory.

"That's…that's your new hat!"

"Why yes, it is, isn't it? I must say, it's a look I never thought I'd take to, but it's very dashing, if I do say so myself. You have very good taste in many things. Speaking of which…" He pulled his briefcase back up to the desk top.

Laura blushed, former anxiety melting away. She watched patiently as he fished around the container.

"Oh yes, here we are. This Friday, would you like to attend a concert with me? I have an extra ticket and I do believe it's something you may enjoy…" He slid the paper ticket across the surface of the desk. Laura picked it up.

"Tribute to Erik Satie, Waldo Hauptwurk? The famous pianist? In _London_? He's coming to London?" Her eyes widened. "It's limited seating, only those with tickets may enter. Professor, £60 for _one_ ticket?"

"Oh, don't worry yourself over that. It's short notice, but it's this Friday evening at 6:30. I'd be happy to drive you there and return you home within a reasonable hour. For the sake of your father," he added, chuckling brightly.

Disbelieving everything she was hearing, she sat in silence, randomly admiring the wood grain in the desk.

'_No, back to the present time. Waldo Hauptwurk! It's near impossible to get tickets to his performances, they are sold out months in advance! And I thought he was staying in Germany for a while… Shows how much I know. And a tribute to Satie, one of my favorite composers. Surely it's all a coincidence, but…it's so perfect! It really is perfect._'

"…Laura?"

"I'm…completely speechless. I don't know what to say…"

"A yes or a no will work just fine," he said, smiling.

"Well, I'd be an absolute _fool_ to decline!" she spluttered loudly. "Anyone with half a brain knows that this is the opportunity of a lifetime! Hauptwurk… Wow. I really don't know how you managed such a thing, but this is amazing. I… I've totally lost the sadness I came in here with!"

Layton couldn't help but laugh at her reaction, not expecting the enthusiasm. "It's definitely apparent where your interests are, there's no doubt about that. And…" He handed her final back from last semester. "…where they aren't. You left this on your desk."

"Oops…"

"Well, now that I have your acceptance, I'll plan on being at your house at 5:30. I want to allot enough time to get there in the snow and to be seated. Is that fine? Good. Look forward to Friday!"

She grabbed her messenger bag, beaming. "Thank you so much, Professor. I really can not wait. Oh and, about this morning…"

"Your apology is more than enough. Though," he rubbed his left shoulder blade, "Miss Miller's massage pad for my car may prove its worth on the way home. You have quite the throw…"

She apologized once again and left the room. The door slammed shut.

"A quick reminder…" He jotted down hurriedly on a notepad. "…thank Rosa yet again for those tickets."

Racing from the room, Laura's spirits couldn't have been higher. All that had been hardened and frozen inside now floated her down the hallway, out the door, and back into the snow for the walk home.

'_Friday evening in London, at one of the greatest shows of all time, with…_'

She halted, waiting for the traffic to pass at the same intersection that she'd ruined her morning just hours before. Staring into the dissipating gasoline emissions from the passing cars, she put two and two together.

'_I'll be with him for the entire evening. I'll be with him for the _en-ti-re_ evening. No conferences, no workshops. Just him, walking in the snow, and music. I feel like a child at Christmas._

_What an ironic day…_'

The next few days were excruciatingly painful to wait through, although at the same time, Laura didn't want to rush to Friday. She knew it'd be over before she knew it, so she didn't want to be too impatient, but…

Sitting through archaeology wasn't getting any easier to tolerate. Nor was the Professor's nonchalance, every time she made eye contact. It was as if he was playing a joke on her, and wouldn't really be showing up on Friday. He didn't so much as smile anymore. Plain faced, he'd just continue through class, or walk down the hall as if he hadn't actually seen her walk by.

'_Maybe he's just being cautious…can't play favorites, I suppose…I'm probably just being a child about it anyway…_'

Friday after class, she ambled through the halls on Cloud 9, hoping the next few hours would pass without incident. A hurried set of footsteps came up from behind her. An expensive hurried set of footsteps.

"So, Laura, going to spend your birthday with a good read?"

"I'm surprised you remembered my birthday, Millie. I'm touched," Laura said, rolling her eyes. "In fact, I'm going to London this evening."

Millie's eyes widened, interested. "Oh, to do what?"

"Oh you know, the usual: a show, a stop at a café, bit of light shopping… That's my typical Friday night."

Squinting, Millie frowned. "You're a liar. You're _never_ in downtown London because that's where I spend _my _Friday nights, and you've _never_ been there. Ever."

"Well, maybe you just weren't in the right place at the right time," Laura said, a bit worried. Was Millie really a frequenter of the downtown area? If Laura was seen with their professor, however innocent the occasion was, Millie would definitely let rumors fly. There'd already been unkind things said against her, what with the conference and all; she was only thankful no one knew about her drink being drugged. She quickly decided to make sure Millie wouldn't notice her presence, if indeed she was around. "Where will you be this evening?"

"Only the newest, most raved about restaurant in the city! If you don't have table reservations by now, you won't be getting any! You need to make them weeks in advance." She smirked. "So, I'll just wish you 'Happy Birthday' now, since I know I won't be seeing you later. Hee hee. Have fun in London, birthday girl!"

Blonde curls bobbing about, Millie made her way through a group of girls just getting out of a science lab. Laura groaned.

"Great, why does she have to always ruin everything…"

"Something got you down, Laura?" Professor Layton walked past on her left, holding a wrapped sandwich. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No, I haven't. I was just about to head home to grab something to eat." She hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder and sighed.

He lowered his voice, whether it was subconsciously or purposefully, Laura didn't know. "I'll be at your house around half after 5, as I said before. Is that okay?"

She'd almost forgotten about her own plans, Millie messing up her train of thought. "Oh yes, that's fine. I told my parents I'd be expecting a ride to go out this evening."

"Are you sure that you didn't have any prior engagements that this would interfere with?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Why would I have?"

"Well, it _is_ your—nevermind. I suppose I already knew that." He gave her a weak wave and quickened his pace. "See you this evening!"

"Yeah…"

Leaving her in his wake, the Professor made his way to his office, carefully unfolding the wrapper to his sandwich once he finally sat down. He chewed on a bite thoughtfully, wondering if it was too audacious singling out one student for her birthday. It wasn't odd that he knew the date; a date of birth was listed on every student's file. What might have been seen as odd was that he wasn't celebrating all of his students' special days, only one of them.

'_It's coincidence, yes, that's it, coincidence. Is it not fate that this particular concert just so happens to occur on her birthday? It's not my doing. It's just happenstance, a bit of luck. Yes, that's really all it is_…

_Yes, what a lie, you create for yourself, Hershel. Such a nice man, a lovely gentleman, aren't you? Who are you playing for a fool? If that was all it was, why was it that you pressured Rosa into getting those tickets, even over Christmas? Like some sort of lunatic? Maybe you should wake up and smell the Earl Gray. Your student might thank you.'_

Jolting out of a reverie, the Professor gasped. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten lost in interior monologues, but they were getting to be particularly personal, so much so that it ended up being _himself_ unknowingly chiding and pestering _himself_. He tried pushing the thoughts aside, attributing them to lack of sleep, but the more he slept, the more he dreamt, and that was almost as worse as being admonished by oneself in the waking hours.

He finished his sandwich and made himself some tea, the only thing that seemed to calm him anymore.

Feeling a bit guilty, Laura shut the front door to her house. Hours prior, she had told her parents that 'Harriet Lehman' was going to take her to the movies with a few other girls. The business side of her persuaded them to buy it, but the marketing wasn't all truthful, as a 'Hershel Layton' was the real driver, and the only 'girls' going were herself and any voices in her head telling her that something wrong was bound and determined to ruin the evening.

She opened the car door and slipped inside. It was warm and arid, hot air from the vents already choking her of breath.

"Good evening," the Professor greeted her, tipping his hat slightly. "All set?"

"As much as I'll ever be. Mind if I crack a window?"

The ride was much shorter than the last time she'd been in his car, and they'd barely discussed the local goings-on before they found themselves in a traffic jam. Cars in all lanes honked angrily as their drivers rolled down windows, even in the sub-zero temperature, shouting out mild profanities at cars in front of them.

"Ah, what rubbish. I for certain thought that this route would be the quickest… Turns out our pianist celebrity is more popular than we bargained for." As the cars in front pulled away forward, traffic making only slight progress, Layton made the decision to leave the lane and make a turn down a narrow side road. Laura sat quietly, looking about at the quaint buildings that lined the street. The car stopped in front of a cramped but charming set of apartments, covered in iced-over ivy.

"Is it far to the theatre?" Laura inquired as she opened her door, eyes down the lane.

"Not too far to walk. Mind your step, Laura, that curb looks slippery." He made his way around the car and helped her out, taking her hand in his.

"Honestly, treating me like a child…" she muttered quietly. He looked at her as if to ask what she'd said, but thought better of it. She grabbed her bag and shut the door. "Will we be late, walking?"

"We've made good time. We should be fine." He held out his arm towards her. "Hold on, this sidewalk is quite icy."

She jumped back slightly, her natural reaction to having her bubble of space invaded. "Do I look like I am from the tropics and have never walked in snow and ice before?" she sarcastically blurted out. "Honestly, honestly…" Reexamining the situation in an instant, she felt bad for reacting so instinctively without thinking.

"Well, if you're certain you'll be alright," Layton said softly, somewhat defensively. "But I really think—"

"On second thought, you're right so…" She linked her arm with his, all feeling leaving her left side.

'_This. Is. Awkward._'

The Professor studied her quietly as he started them on their journey . "You really don't like being in close proximity with people, do you?"

"It's…a quirk of mine, I suppose…"

"It's not the first time I've noticed," he laughed casually. "I wonder why that is."

"Well, as I've analyzed it, I wasn't really hugged or touched as a child. No head pats, no forms of caressing. I wasn't even punished physically. Perhaps that's why. It's just really…foreign to me. Plus, I don't like germs."

His eyes widened. "Ah, a germophobe."

"I suppose that's the word."

"Well, this feels rather natural on my end. If it's really uncomfortable for you, you can keep to your side of the sidewalk," he chortled.

"Hmm." As the time she borrowed his sweater, and when she gave in to dancing, it quickly became natural, as if she'd been doing it all her life. Perhaps it was just her infatuation with him, but whatever it was, it was making her enjoy being linked at his side. "I'll survive."

After five minutes, the theatre came into view. The sign outside the building was on fire, it was so brightly lit, branding the night's showings into whomever's retinas glanced at it. Several people were getting dropped off by limousine right under the overhanging sign, fancy ladies stepping onto the salted curb, heels grinding into the ground, rich older men taking a last puff of their cigars, casually grinding them into the ash bins just outside the entrance doors.

"Too bad we couldn't have been dropped off like that," Laura laughed as they came closer to the entrance.

The Professor pulled their tickets out of his coat pocket with his free hand. "Well, then we couldn't have walked together, could we?" He smiled as he made a quick glance at their connecting arms, just as quickly looking forward again, a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

'_She'll think it's the cold, for sure…_'

Laura went to make a comment but it was lost as they entered the lobby, maroon plush carpet underneath their feet. The walls were covered in browns and golds, ushers scurrying about the room in matching brown vests with gilded buttons. Professor Layton entered one of the many lines.

"Guess it's still a rush, even at quarter after."

She nodded, heart racing. The anticipation before listening to powerful music made her antsy. Within a few minutes their tickets had been scanned over by a portly usher by the name of 'Marly' and they were being guided to their seats.

"All the way to the right, sir. All the way over."

Layton tipped his hat in thanks and moved carefully down the row. He plopped heavily into a folded cushion, removing his top hat. "I suppose it's only polite to allow those behind me to see." Laura giggled.

"How kind of you. You know, I once saw a concert and a woman in front of me had a huge plume of feathers on her hat. She never took it off, and I never could see the orchestra either."

"Dreadful! It's only appropriate to take one's hat off during such performances."

Nodding, she removed her coat and breathed heavily into her cupped hands.

"Do you suffer from cold hands during the winter, Laura?"

"_Any _time I'm in a cold environment, even during summer, in the air conditioning, my hands and feet feel like they are freezing. It's a bother, trying to play piano with stiff, cold hands."

She sat back and stuffed her hands into her lap, trying to take the warmth from in between her legs. The lights dimmed and an older man walked to the middle of the stage to announce the pianist's performance details, followed by a little of his history. In minutes, the famous Waldo Hauptwurk strutted across the stage dramatically, naturally cueing the applause. He bowed for a total of 10 times before sitting on the bench behind the keys.

Laura's eyes brightened, as Professor Layton could tell even by sitting back in his seat. He glanced over a couple of times, thoroughly relieved that she seemed to be having a good time. He really knew nothing about the music of the evening, or much about the composer, but he'd heard her play a song of Satie's once at Millie's tea party (/brunch) with the most delicate touch, pulling back and rushing forward again as dictated by tempo markings. It was obvious she was in love with the piece. It was only a guess that the composer was one of her favorites.

Starting out at the edge of her seat, Laura gradually rested back into the chair and put her arms on the armrests. She let herself drift away, carried away by careening melodies that wove together, charismatic chords that sewed themselves into the fabric of the music, covering the entire hall in its grandeur. Hauptwurk was almost an actor, the amount of emotion he put into his playing a show in itself. He mourned with the sad notes, pounded joyfully away with the proud ones as they carved out a careful tune. As part of the audience, Laura was in awe, happy for the time she wasn't the one doing the performing.

Professor Layton listened physically, but was mulling over the sequence of the evening. As much as he'd have liked to push it aside, the incessant desire to make the night flow perfectly was eating away at all preparation he'd done the week prior. He worried that something would go awry and make the night memorable, but in a way that wasn't pleasing. Shaking his head, he returned back to the concert, typical logic running through his head once again.

'_Events like this are a normal occurrence. No one bothers whether it goes according to plan. It's common, there's nothing special, nothing special._'

He leaned back and placed his arms on the rests. Shocked, he retreated, feeling another hand underneath his. Laura did the same, eyeing him suspiciously. "Sorry, Laura. Didn't know your hand was there…you can have the rest," he whispered. She shook her head.

"It's fine, go ahead."

'_What was that? Was he trying to hold my hand or was that just an innocent mistake?_' She smirked, glaring at him through the corner of her eye. '_What a cheap move… But I only backed away because he did, it startled me. Otherwise…it was a bit nice… BLOODY HELL, WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT?_'

The Professor's face turned brick red although he didn't mean for it. He had nothing to be embarrassed about, but he somehow felt as if he'd broken some unwritten rule, feeding into a cliché, without intending to.

'_Oh yes, the typical nonchalant I'm-going-to-secretly-lay-my-hand-on-yours trick. What a bother… She's going to think I was trying to do something, as if I am so low to put on such a stunt_. _This is what happens when I think too much!_'

He noticed that she kept her hands in her lap from that point on, face a bit hardened, but figured that she'd lighten up once intermission came around.

After a lengthy applause, the pianist bowing enthusiastically, the house was lit again, allowing safe passage to the lobby and bathrooms for a brief interlude. Laura stood, stretching. The seat swung up behind her, holding her coat in place against the back.

"I need to use the restroom. Will you be staying here?"

"Well, I was thinking of getting myself a cup of tea…"

Laura snorted. "At a theatre?"

"Surely they have _something_ at the concession booth."

"In that case…" Gathering her messenger bag and coat, she made her way down the crowded row of those seated, the Professor following behind. They appeared in the lobby, cutting through a crowd of people vying to get a bite to eat.

The Professor found the end of a line and smiled. "Would you like me to take your coat?" She handed it to him without a word and walked away. After a few minutes of waiting in line, the folks gathering around started getting a little more comfortable with each other, making jibs at the amount of time it was taking, talking about the daily news, and other happenings about London. A cheery elderly man quipped loudly about coming to see a comedy, and found the concert to be fitting enough, what with the amount of drama that the evening's pianist was playing with.

"Quite the actor, that one! Talented, quite, but an actor all the same!"

Layton turned and nodded. "Yes, it seems he uses the swaying to carry a tempo of sorts, I've noticed."

"Very good, very good! Analytical, this one!" he hooted to the rest of his group. "Say there, a lovely hat you have, old chap! Was that your daughter, just gone to the restroom?"

The Professor about choked on his own breath. "E-Excuse me? No, good heavens, I don't have any children."

"Why, she looks about 12, 13 years old! Maybe I put too high of an age on you…35?"

"Um, no…27."

"Oh my, so sorry! Perhaps it's the hat? Some clothing just ages you! Well then, hmm, perhaps she's a niece?"

Layton shook his head, hoping to not show his embarrassment. He laughed weakly. "No, no, she's just—"

"I'm going out on a limb here, must be your girlfriend then. I tell you, these girls, all looking younger and younger, some of them, while others just look old as my wife 'ere!" The elderly woman at his side slapped him on the arm, grunting in disgust. "Darling…"

"No, she's not…well, she's a girl and a friend, but…no, not my girlfriend either. Just a friend, yes," said the Professor, tripping over his thoughts and words, wishing the conversation would end. The man had had something to drink, and whatever it was, it was strong.

"Aw, come now, young lad, she's pretty enough, you've brought her to this fine establishment. Surely if you're willing to spend the pounds to get to this shoddy show, she's got to be much more than just a 'friend who's a girl'!" Another slap.

"Gordon, really now, you're making the boy nervous, look at 'im, all red in the face and flustered!" The man's wife smiled sincerely at the Professor, waving her husband away with her hand. "Never you mind him, he's just an old coot who puts his nose into everyone else's business. You enjoy your evening now with that pretty girl, young sir. Don't end up like this crusty old bucket here!"

"Yes, words to live by!" the man shouted, attracting laughs and looks from lookers-on before receiving another final, heavy beating from his spouse. Layton chuckled as he faced forward again in the line, thankful for the change of conversation. The lady was now heckling her husband for drinking too much before the show and threatened to have the ushers escort him to the exit.

Laura finally returned, successfully finding the Professor amidst the crowd. "I see you got your tea."

"Barely," he mumbled to himself as they walked back to the concert hall. He wasn't expecting the exchange with the older gentleman, and indeed he was flustered. Daughter, niece? _Girlfriend_ even? It got him to thinking, what exactly should he call Laura? Student seemed the most obvious, friend the next obvious title, but…it somehow didn't fit. On the 'to-think' list.

The next 45 minutes passed without any other hand intrusions or awkward moments, and the concert finally ended. Laura clapped zealously, perhaps the loudest of those around the two of them. They collected their belongings and filed out slowly with the rest of the attendees.

"Wow, wasn't that wonderful! Absolutely brilliant. I've never heard such wonderful renditions." She clapped her hands together, rubbing them almost hungrily. "If only I could play that well…"

"I heard you play one of those at the Miller residence; it sounded just as good, if not better, in my humble opinion. But yes, it was a beautiful show. He's quite the entertainer, Mr. Hauptwurk."

"Crazy German guy, and I can say so: I'm half-German," she giggled, Layton doing the same.

"Ho ho, well now, as for the next event on the agenda, let's head this way." He directed her towards the intersection, heading near the more vibrant and busy part of the area. Laura hesitated.

"Wait, 'next event'? What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't send you home hungry. Indeed, it's almost 8:00. I've been meaning to try this particular restaurant myself. Perhaps you'd like to join me?" He placed a hand on her back, gently guiding her forward across the crosswalk. "Let's see if it measures up."

Laura bit her lip. "This is quite embarrassing, but I didn't bring a lot of money with me. Perhaps I should sit this one out…"

"Nonsense! I already made the reservations for two, I can't very well show up by myself. Besides, a true gentleman always treats a lady out, no exceptions."

Disarming wink, disarming smile. And 're-arming' on her left, as he linked his arm once again with hers. "Well, if you insist, but where are we…blimey…"

They stopped in front of a tall building. As if the 4-stort front windows weren't dazzling enough, the entrance way was practically swimming in polished alabaster pillars and tiling, perhaps literally drowning with the addition of a monstrous fountain that almost hid the entire façade. The oaken doors glistened from the outdoor lights, a stiff looking man already opening the door for them as they approached. Laura stood speechless as she stared at the sign.

"_Regia_… Even the sign screams expensive," she groaned incredulously. "Professor, is this really the right place? It's probably £100 for one person, and that's a low estimate."

"It's been the talk of the town, I'm not backing out now," he laughed. "Come now, before our reservations are worthless."

After treading across stone tiles that probably were worth more than a small developing nation, the Professor walked to a rounded podium with a heavily masked young woman. Her make-up was almost eerie, the way her naturally dark eyes were seemingly lost in her mascara.

"Welcome to _Regia_, sir. May I have your last name, please?"

"Layton, for two."

As they followed the woman into the dining room, Laura couldn't help but feel a bit special when he stated 'for two' as if it was their norm. The place was lively as expected, each table filled to capacity. They were seated at a window overlooking a thoroughfare, the lights of downtown London like the stars of the night sky, brought to earth.

"Such a nice view, we're very lucky!" Laura exclaimed, allowing one of the hosts to pull out her chair and take her coat away. She sat down and brushed her hand over the front of the menu. "Even the menu is elaborate!"

"It's one of the best in London, I've heard. Many of my Gressenheller students have been raving about it, telling me I should go. Of course, they pestered me to take someone along but…"

"Oh, you mean they wanted to go with you?"

His cheeks flushed pink as he took a sip of water to divert her attention elsewhere. "No, no, not that, I think they meant—"

'_Saved by the waiter…_'

A well-dressed, dark skinned man with slick hair presented a bread basket, a plate of antipasto, and a small bottle of sampler wine to the table. He had the class of a baron with the swank of a game show host. He flashed a bleach-white grin. "Good evening, sir, young miss, and welcome to _Regia_, your ticket to royal dining right here in the heart of downtown London. My name is Vinny and I will be your gracious host this fine evening." He sat the food and drink on the table, arranging them in a fashion he probably had to practice 100 times to get correct as he placed each object at a certain angle and distance. "May I interest you in our signature bread, homemade cheeses and cured meats, and a bit of the owner's family stock, a 1950 vintage made right here in England?"

Although she was used to taking in a plethora of information at one time, Laura could only blink in reply, the Professor jovially accepting.

"Thank you, Vinny," he said with a broad grin. "It looks wonderful."

"My pleasure. I'll give you a few moments to read over our menu, but first I'll let you know about this evening's specials." He continued with detailed descriptions of many of the signature dishes, how the meal would be cooked, what ingredients would be used and where they were all obtained, even a brief history of how the chef came to create such dishes. It was all very thorough, and time consuming.

Laura laughed as the waiter shifted to another table, repeating his prepared speech. "All that and we still don't know what to order!"

"This is more puzzling than, well, puzzles." They both laughed.

"Speaking of which, I think the puzzles you offer in class are too easy," Laura pointed out, a note of disdain in her voice.

The Professor set his menu down, letting out a sad sigh. "Alas, I'm not sure the rest of the class cares as much for a good mental workout. I haven't been giving the best out."

"Do you ever come across any that take you days to figure out?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Why of course. I'm not God. Depending on the circumstances, there have been ones I put away for months at a time, and come back to them later, with an instant answer upon first glance. It's a curious thing, the brain…"

Laura sat quietly for a moment, smiling to herself. "Say, how about this for a New Year's resolution? I'll find a puzzle for you every day, and you can find one for me, and whoever solves the most by the end of the semester wins."

Chuckling, Layton nodded, receptive to the offer. "That's a very clever idea. Disappointing I didn't think of it earlier myself."

"But they have to be difficult. No baby stuff," she warned with a wag of her finger. "And don't go easy on me, because I won't be doing that for you."

He laughed loudly. "Ho ho, I wouldn't dream of it. I'll find you something for Monday."

"Very good." She looked back at the menu. "I can't pronounce half of this. My word, I thought I was clever knowing what the name of the place means!"

"You mean _Regia_?"

"Yes, it's Latin for 'palace' or 'court.' Someone did their homework; it fits the bill quite nicely, if I may say so." She gazed around the room, still astonished. "I would have never known about this place, had you not brought me."

The Professor looked at her warmly. "Well, I figured you probably don't get out often, so it wouldn't hurt to let you have a bit of fun, would it?"

She laughed lightly, a bit concerned. "Still, is this really necessary?"

"Necessary? Well, I suppose none of this evening was really _necessary_ by definition." Laura folded her hands in her lap, feeling more like a burden after his comment.

"I suppose not," she whispered, hurt.

"But, that's really not the question. It's more a question of whether you are enjoying yourself. Can you answer that?"

Taken aback, she thought briefly. "I…well, yes, but, how is that important?"

He broke a piece of bread, applying a thin layer of butter across the soft surface. "It's important because I think you need to start thinking about enjoying yourself once in a while, instead of perfecting. You are allowed to enjoy yourself, my dear. I'm just as logical as you are, if not less, but even the wisest person will tell you that no matter how hard you try, you'll just disappoint yourself if you think you can be perfect all around."

"Again with your perfectionist lecture." She narrowed her eyes, tearing gingerly at a piece of prosciutto. "About as tiresome as archaeology…"

"It's not so much a lecture as it is a bit of advice from a caring friend. As I said before, don't waste your energy on those who won't pay attention. Let me amend that by adding on 'don't waste your energy on those who already think you are perfect as you are'." He finally stuffed the bread into his mouth, smiling. "Delicious."

Laura scowled. "Advice indeed! Caring friend indeed! Haven't you noticed? I have to be perfect, lest I lose everything. Paid education, scholarships, job openings… You do realize that imperfection has taken what's most important to me? It's imperfection that's turned my parents into impractical misers. It was imperfection that killed my brother. I want no part in it. And I personally don't care what others think. I haven't met a person yet who thinks I'm already at a suitable level of _anything_, grades, talent, personality. Anything." She poured quickly over the menu, tapping the plastic covering over the name of a foreign sounding dish. "That's the one. I'm getting this."

Shaking his head, the Professor sighed. "I thought you'd be more clever. I must say, I'm disappointed." She looked up from her menu, subconsciously unhappy to displease.

"What…what do you mean?"

"I keep leaving you puzzles, but you don't catch on to them. Maybe you're right; maybe you have a bit of imperfection to work on still. Perhaps I'll go easy on your puzzle for Monday." He smiled, knowing it'd goad her enough to either admit she was catching on to his hints, or at least deliver a frustrated snarl. Admittedly, he found her harsh glares and occasional angry pouts a bit endearing, if not attractive in some subliminal way. "You win this one."

The waiter approached the table once again. "Ready to order?"

Laura shut her menu, glaring viciously under heavy eyelids, never looking at the Professor's face.

"I'm ready."

'_Ready alright…_'

They ordered and specified their tastes to the waiter who took the request to the kitchen. Layton seemed congenial enough, but Laura was flooded with contrasting emotions.

'_How dare he! Admonish me for a second time about how I handle myself, then admit I'm right? What's he playing at? And he's so fluid about it, so hidden too, I never know what he's thinking. This puzzle business, he's really taking it too far. He's just playing with my mind, just like…just like…_

_Oh God. Yes, I hate admitting things to myself. As if I didn't know and catch on. Who am I trying to fool? I know what he's playing at but…I can't let it happen. It's not _supposed_ to happen. I'm not allowed to like my professor, I'm not allowed to be caught dead with him, especially in a place like this, hopping about London, hanging on his arm. I certainly can't let him flirt with me. He's not just being nice anymore, it's…it's a bit deeper than this gentleman stuff. It's that on the surface but…it's just a façade. It's a lot deeper than that…I'm not stupid. I can tell, but…how long can I hide understanding? Maybe the better question is, _should_ I be hiding my understanding?_

_This is all terribly frustrating. I need to be on my guard…but…I wish I didn't have to think so hard about everything I ever do!_'

"Professor, don't be disappointed in me," she blurted out. "I know I'm a bit, well, socially awkward, but I really do understand what you're saying."

He looked at her curiously. "Oh?"

"It's just…I'm not quite sure how to say this, but it's a bit worrisome, having someone who understands and accepts me, as you do. I'm not really used to it." She poked at a piece of cheese, a sad frown playing at her lips. "I hope you understand that."

He smiled, to her relief. "Don't worry, Laura. I see you have caught on. You don't have to try and impress anyone, especially—"

"_Take your hat off_."

"I…sorry?"

"Just _take your hat off_," Laura spat abruptly, gripping the edges of the table. "_Do it now_."

The Professor wondered at her troubled expression, quickly removing his hat. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Bloody, she's already done a double-take," she hissed, shielding her eyes. "Good thing there's a lot of hustle and bustle in this place… I need to use the restroom. I trust you'll use your wits." She slipped from her chair and flung her bag over her shoulder, making her way towards the restrooms on the opposite side of the room.

"What? Wait, see here! Laur—"

"Oh my goodness! Professor Layton! I would have _never_ thought I'd see you here, tonight, in the same restaurant as me!" Millie Miller raced to the side of the Professor's table, giggling incessantly. "I can't believe it!"

'_Oh…that's what she was stirred up about…this is quite the predicament, indeed…_'

"Miss Miller! Fancy seeing you as well. Who are you here with?"

She bobbed her golden curls in the palm of her hand, eye lashes batting. "Just a few of my friends from school, a couple of Gressenheller students. Maybe you know of them?" She pointed to a square table a few spots over, five people seating around it.

"Hmm, I may recognize the blonde-haired boy. He was in a class one of my colleagues taught. Pleasant young fellow, I think William was his name, if I'm not mistaken."

"Another example of how smart you are! William Dolan, right you are!" She glanced at the empty chair across from him. "Are you dining with someone?"

He gulped, thinking quickly. "Yes, a good friend of mine from college. She's gone to the bathroom, a bit under the weather…"

'_Not quite a lie….It's completely true, after all!_'

Millie leered. "Ooooh, my, Professor! A lady? At this fancy place on a Friday night? Only a _good_ friend?"

Layton laughed heartily. "Your audacity is quite amusing, Millie, and it seems you've caught on. Perhaps a bit more than 'good,' since you've offered the question. It's a bit complicated, nonetheless."

"Well, if you ever need dating tips, I'd be more than happy to offer my services!" She winked and twirled herself around. "Good evening, Professor!"

"And to you, Millie…" His voice trailed off, wondering how he and Laura would get out of being noticed by Millie. There was really no inconspicuous way of going about it, and he knew his other student would be scouting his table out for whenever his more-than-a-good-friend showed herself.

'_I wish I knew what to do…I actually have no plan._'

Moments into thought, a woman of medium height in a bright green dress, matching beret, and high heels sat down at the table, startling him back to earth. "Oh, um, madam, I don't mean to be rude but…wait, _Laura_?"

"Laura? I sink you mean Greta, don't you, Hershel?" Laura said in a flawless German accent, eyeing him carefully. "I sink you need to vatch the drink a bit, don't you?"

He blinked several times, trying to comprehend who was sitting in front of him. "You…but the outfit, your face, and—how did you account for all this possibly happening?"

"Long story, I'll tell you later. For now, I'm Greta Wienhoft, I'm your friend from college, and needless to say, I'm German. Like my transformation? Pretty convincing, isn't it? I practiced all afternoon. Not the accent, the makeup application. I'm half German, I don't need help with the accent." She said it all so matter-of-factly, as if scripted, that the Professor couldn't help but laugh out loud, unbelieving of the entire thing although he knew it all to be true.

"I…well, it's convincing, among other things…" He wasn't sure whether to admire her keen attention to detail in preparing for such a situation, or just her charming accent. The heavy makeup was a bit much for his own tastes, but the outfit and voice wasn't out of line… Guilt flooding his system, he smiled appreciatively, hiding his thoughts. "Nice work."

"Danke. Now, let's see if I can address the problem of the waiter wondering where his previous customer went…"

The Professor stood. "Laura, let's just leave for tonight. I'll bring you back another time."

She stared at him, frozen. "What? But, the reservations, the time you put into all this. You're just going to throw it away? Millie told me she was going to a popular restaurant this evening, I knew my luck wouldn't hold out so I planned for this. It'll be fine now!"

He shook his head, flagging down the waiter. "Although I am thoroughly impressed by your hidden skills as an actress, I don't really care to dine with Miss Wienhoft this evening. I'd much rather settle for, no, _enjoy_ a more quaint place if it would mean staying with my original guest. Oh, here you are. I'm terribly sorry, Vinny, but my friend here is not feeling well and we need to make an early exit. Here's a tip for your assistance this evening." He handed a few paper bills to the waiter, who stared at it in happy surprise.

"Oh, my, well, this isn't necessary! Well, I… Please do feel better, miss! I…"

Before the waiter could inquire, the Professor placed his arm around Laura, leading her to the exit quickly, not allowing the waiter to ask questions, and forbidding a situation with Millie to arise. They were back on the cold sidewalk, groups of people walking and talking about, just as they were before they had entered the restaurant. They looked at each other, quiet, then burst out laughing.

"I can't believe, what has just happened in the past half hour," Laura giggled, going into hysterics. "It's absolutely unheard of, completely hilarious! It's almost as if it was all planned, scripted!"

Professor Layton wiped a small tear from his eye. "I'm completely floored, I must say. I've never had anything quite like this happen. Not even close, not even similar! Well, I suppose we can continue with Plan B. My personal favorite café, just a couple of blocks down. Would you like to walk, or take the car?"

She held out her hand, theatrics taking over. "Hershel, you know I despise such busy contraptions. Valking is better. Guide me to my destination. That's vat a gentleman does, ja?"

Chuckling, he obliged. "Who am I to deny the request of a beautiful lady?"

Her laughter trailed off, allowing him to take her hand. He may have been playing into her acting when he had just mentioned her request as a 'beautiful lady,' but it made her embarrassed all the same. She expected him to let go of her hand, but he didn't, and made no move to stop holding it. She cleared her throat.

"I should really go change. These shoes are killing my feet."

"A good idea."

After a few minutes in a convenience store bathroom, Laura was back to her former self: a good five inches shorter, minus the heels; flat hair, minus the hat; and plain faced, minus the make-up mask. Looking about the bathroom, she remembered why she hated big city life.

"I've never seen so many numbers for prostitutes as I just did in _one_ bathroom stall. I really could have made a directory," she noted wryly after exiting the bathroom, walking up to Layton's side. "There. I'm back to my old boring self."

"I wouldn't say boring," he said with a smile, tearing himself away from an architectural magazine. "This has been quite an adventure, wouldn't you agree? Now then, to our destination."

The café of Professor Layton's choice was small and subdued, but very cozy. Local artists' works were proudly displayed on the walls, most of them portraying landscapes and scenery from around London. Little lamps sat on top of each metal-framed table, giving off a calm yellow light. It made one _want_ to start a habit of drinking tea and chewing on freshly baked goods, just to frequent the place.

"Where should we sit?" the Professor asked, following Laura to a hidden table in the back corner.

"Hidden and quiet. Two things Millie won't ever relate with," she said with a grin. "Can't risk that happening again. Charming place. Do you come here often?"

"About four times a week. I know the owner well, and I get a discount. Additionally, the fare really is excellent, by café standards." He pointed at a large chalkboard chart that hung above the cashier counter. "There are your options. I recommend the Lackadaisical Lavender. It's very calming, and has subtle sour notes at the end of each swallow."

She laughed. "Listen to you, tea expert. I thought such lingo only existed for wine connoisseurs."

He blushed. "Well, all things have their experts!"

"Okay, I'll take your word for it. I'll have the Lackadaisical whatsit, Lavender, yes. That one. And I think I want one of those paninis…"

After several mouthfuls of food, sips of tea, and talking about how narrowly they escaped uproar at the former restaurant, Laura decided to change the subject. She'd wondered all evening, but had never brought it up before, how everything was seemingly planned with precision. If Millie's comment about _Regia_ filling up weeks in advance was true, this whole evening had been in the cards for quite some time. It made her as curious as ever to know what was really going on in the Professor's head.

She shook off her nervousness and coughed weakly, clearing her throat. "Um, Professor, I have a question."

"And I have an answer," he laughed, setting his cup down. "Continue."

"I want an _honest_ answer, a forthright one. I don't want a puzzle."

"Okay, I won't give a puzzle. What is it?" He didn't know why, but he started to feel rather uneasy about the pressing tone in her voice.

She looked at the table, eyes playing with the tile pattern under the surface glass. "About this evening, it all seems very well coordinated, and, if I may be so bold, quite perfect. I really don't know how you managed it."

He smiled, folding his hands on the table. "Well, I'm quite good at picking up signals that people leave around about themselves. Is it not obvious to you, what really makes those around you tick? I guess the simple way to put it is that I have good intuition."

"Well, yes, that, but…still. In the end, that's all conjecture. Good guesswork. It's not 100% certain, whether you're skilled at it or not."

"I see your point." He sipped his tea fondly, smiling over the rim of the cup. "You still haven't asked your question."

Exhaling audibly, she looked at him, candid. "Did you know that today was my birthday?"

He paused, holding the cup in midair. He stared at the little bubbles in his tea, popping one by one around the edge of the beverage. "No puzzles. Yes, I did know."

"Did you do all this, _because_ it's my birthday?" she asked hesitantly, both excited and scared for the answer.

"I think it's more of a lucky coincidence. I found out about the concert months ago, but only wondered in the past month or so whether I should pursue it. The restaurant was more of my own fancying, and since I knew I'd already be out this evening, I made it overlap."

"All in advance. It just so happened to all fall on today," she said in monotone, as if dictating a particularly boring bit of poetry. "Is that really plausible?"

Finishing his tea, he nodded. "It really is, as strange as it sounds. I suppose it's a bit late to say, but happy birthday. I hope you've enjoyed it."

She hummed in affirmation. "Hmm. Yes. I did. Thank you again."

It was an understatement, feeling crushed. Laura felt numb, both from a mental chastising and the reality of the Professor's statement. What was she really hoping for, a confession? A statement of mutual feelings? Did she think the planets had aligned and the fact she was having the time of her life on her birthday meant anything more than what it appeared as? Perhaps it was because her birthdays typically weren't anything to write home about; her mother would buy a cake, she'd get whatever slice she wanted, and she'd open a card, always filled with cold cash. There was no party, there was no pomp and circumstance. No fanfares.

Today was just a coincidental dream, one from which she didn't want to wake, one she didn't want to have end.

'_Just a professor, Laura. He's just your professor. Stop getting all rosy and spellbound just because he's the only person you understand. He has a fleet of colleagues, an enormous pool of intelligent women to choose from. He's not going to have any strong feelings for some neophyte kid who just turned 18. I'm just barely an adult…_ _It'd be weird to have that age gap anyway._'

Professor Layton buttoned his coat and arranged his hat, sensing her regret in asking him such questions. Swallowing his guilt, he chuckled quietly to himself.

'_Sorry, Laura. That's all you will be safely getting out of me._'

"Well, sadly, our little London adventure must come to an end."

"Like all good things, eh?" she laughed feebly, following suit.

"Quite. Shall we?"

He held the door for her and waved good bye to the clerk at the counter. Shivering, he glanced at Laura who he could tell was deep in thought. She stared downcast at the ground, avoiding cracks in the sidewalk as they walked past the store fronts.

"Laura, what are you thinking about? You haven't even put your gloves on."

She looked briefly at her hands, letting them fall back loosely at her sides. "My hands are fine. You know, it's amazing how astute you are about some things, but not with others," she dared, clenching her fists.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, I mean…" She decided then and there to let her silent feelings die; it wasn't worth the effort. If he never knew, well, then he'd just never know, and in reality it really was for the best.

'_It's not appropriate. I'll just do myself the favor, and him as well, in case he was debating all along. I'll just kill it now…make it look like he shouldn't be spending time with only me…_'

"Actually, I was just thinking, you might want to indulge in some other students' likes. I mean, you did this for me, really, you should do something with other students. You mentioned students recommending that restaurant, so maybe you should go back with them instead of promising me another time there." She shrugged, a faint smile lingering about her mouth.

He looked at her with dour eyes, stone-faced. "Well, what do you suggest I do with them?"

"Well, I think Millie, Clara, and Amy enjoy shopping. Obviously Millie was at that restaurant as well. I'm sure you have boys at Gressenheller who enjoy rugby, so you can go to more games—"

"And how do you know I don't already do those things?" he said, a tad sharply.

"Millie never mentioned anything like that. She would have, I know she would have. It would turn into a huge brag fest with the girls. They are all…well, you know…"

"And, is it really proper to be that active in the students' lives?" he questioned, as if formerly opening the topic for discussion.

She shook her head, defeated. "I guess not. But you're doing this, the concert, restaurant, all this tonight. How do you find that proper?"

He laughed, expression changing in an instant. "Well, perhaps it's not as obvious to you, but you're not a student."

Laura snorted, sarcasm growing. "Um, well, no offense but that is a rather stupid comment, yes I am—"

"Rather, I should say, you're not _only_ a student." He chuckled as she looked at him with pure confusion

"Really, what _are_ you getting at? You said yourself it was all coincidence."

"I could be frank, but that'd be too easy, and no fun. I have to treat students a certain way, but I behave much differently towards good friends. Didn't I let you know what you were some time before?"

"Well, that was just—"

"You have no argument then." He shrugged coolly, smiling. He could tell that Laura was fuming inside, but for once, he didn't care. He knew she was a smart girl, that she could figure out his words without any assistance. It kept him from being forthright, and from admitting to himself what he already subconsciously knew.

Laura blinked away a nasty bout of anger. "I really don't know what to say to you right now. It's always a puzzle from you. Maybe I'll just keep my mouth shut like I always tell myself to do."

"You enjoy hints too much. You should mull over options, find the answer out on your own. Or, just wait for it to come to you."

They walked past the fancy restaurant again, people now taking pictures of their friends and family underneath the store sign. Laura stared off to the side, watching the cars zoom past, front lights catching mist in their beams. "I'm a very black and white thinker. I want things straight. I don't want any surprises, no cock and bull situations in real life. Puzzles on paper, sure, I can be thrown curveballs, but in the real world? No. I want to _know_ things."

"Very well. I'll oblige this time. Only this time, mind you." He grabbed her hand and pulled it into his coat pocket along with his, ignoring her stunned expression. "I only held Greta's hand this evening. Probably should warm yours up too, to make it even and fair all around. Is that reasonable?"

She tried to speak, but couldn't find her voice. "I—well, I—this isn't—friend or not it's just not—steady on! Really now, Professor! What if someone should see us?"

"A man back at the theatre thought you were my daughter, and only after guessing 'niece' did he finally try with 'girlfriend'."

"_Girlfriend_?"

"So, I'm not worried about what anyone thinks. Plus, we're just friends, isn't that right? Your hands are cold, correct?" He smiled, as if nothing was different. Laura's face turned red, she could feel it, but she didn't know if it was from embarrassment or anger.

"I really can't let you do this!" she exclaimed, attempting to pull her hand away from his. He held on firmly.

"What? Take you out for your birthday? Attend a huge concert event, make reservations for an exceedingly exorbitant restaurant, weeks in advance?"

"No, you, you…"

"Oh, you mean holding your hand? I'm just keeping you from falling. It's slippery. That's what gentlemen do."

"Is it really gentlemanly conduct, this whole affair?"

He paused, quiet as their shoes crunched salt and ice against the sidewalk. Sighing, he laughed yet again. "Ha ha, if you mean confusing you, it's just a bit of light fun. I'm…a bit lost myself. You like puzzles, I'm stuck in one, so perhaps we'll just find our way out together. Is that explanation enough for you?"

She scowled, eyeing him intently.

'_I really, really, _really _hate mind games and feelings and everything subjective! Despise it!_'

"It's going to have to be… I'm afraid to hear any more," she muttered to herself.

They arrived at the car without another word, Professor Layton turning his key in the ignition while Laura warmed her hands at her mouth. After a few moments the little car started off back home. Neither driver nor passenger was in any rush to start another discussion, both enveloped entirely in their own respective thoughts.

Laura gazed out the window, internally bidding farewell to the city zooming past her window, melting into black night. Her mind was awash in conflict, wishing the fun from earlier didn't have to end so quickly, but dissatisfied with the Professor's back and forth explanations and answers.

'_One moment, I think I'm being singled out and catered to, maybe even thought of as distinct. The next, I'm being told it's just what gentlemen do. And all this rubbish with puzzles! And hints! Figuring things out myself? How can I when I'm being told conflicting information? And then he holds my hand… I just really don't know what to do. Is he playing cautious? He _is_ a professional; he can't very well be…treating one student differently than the other… Is it so wrong to be his 'good friend' though, as he keeps repeating?_'

The car came to a halt. Laura realized she was again outside her house, just as she was mere hours before. The windows sent light from the house lamps cascading across the snow on the lawn.

"Well, I—" she started, barely opening her mouth. Layton opened his door and stepped out. "What—what are you doing?"

He opened the back passenger door and pushed things aside, apparently looking for something. Laura got out of the vehicle and peered into the back window to see what he was up to. "Ah, there it is." Walking around the car, he presented a rectangular object wrapped in brown paper and tied with a brick red ribbon. "Here you are."

She stared at it, accepting it with uncertainty. "And, this is…?"

"Not a fake shark tooth," he said with a knowing grin. "I figured I'd better make up for that. It was mostly a gag gift. Sorry, mostly to downplay the fact I'd been planning for your birthday."

"Oh, the coincidental birthday-concert-and-restaurant-outing-in-London?"

He gave her a somewhat sarcastic grin. "Oh yes, that one. Go ahead, open it."

Laura felt her cheeks warm against the cold winter air. How he knew about the shark tooth and her reaction was beyond her understanding, but she continued unwrapping the gift, senses dulled.

"It's…a piano book." She opened the brittle cover, carefully turning the pages. The thing was actually incredibly old, the binding torn and the pages yellowed by many decades.

"We uncovered it in an underground room of a church in France. The church had been demolished for many years, but no one knew of the hidden storage below ground. Everything inside was in excellent condition."

"This…is excellent?" she asked with a smile, setting a few pages back into their rightful order.

"Well, you know, better than it could have been. Excellent by archaeological standards." His face turned red as he wrung his hands together, anxious. "It was apparently from a composer that played for the choir at that church. All the music is original, and unknown to the world. I thought you'd enjoy having a go at it."

Giving the book another look over, she snorted softly. "A mix of your archaeological pursuits, with my musical ones. Hmm. Interesting. Well, I…I really wasn't expecting this. The evening alone was enough." She looked at her feet, placing the book in the empty box to keep it contained.

The Professor took the loose wrapping paper, tossing it into the back of his car. "Well, it's only appropriate to get a gift on one's—oof!"

Even for one of his quick thinking caliber, it took him a few seconds to figure out what was squeezing the air out of his lungs. Laura hugged him tightly, arms around his torso like a human vise. She naturally rested her head against his chest, taking in his scent before loosening her grip. She stepped back, mentally laughing at his shocked face.

"Thank you," Laura whispered, sniffing sharply. "Thank you so much. I don't know how to express it, so I'm sorry if that was…. Well, it was very out of character, but it just felt natural, for once. I just, I've never had anyone pay attention to detail so…perfectly, and orchestrate an entire evening like that, based around just me. And your present is very personal. I am completely at a loss for words." She held the box against her chest, also holding back an embarrassing set of tears.

"Well, that certainly wasn't the reaction I expected but…" He shook his head, facial expression returning to normal. "You're most certainly welcome, Laura. I'm sure it will serve you well. I'm afraid I must be heading back home now. I trust you thoroughly had a fun birthday." He made to return to the warmth of his car, opening the door.

"Um, Professor?" He looked up. "I forgot to ask. Is it okay if…we continue review sessions?"

He smiled, quiet for a moment. "I can't very well be spending time just talking about things unrelated to school, as you know. But," he added, laughing slightly upon seeing her expression change so quickly, "I suppose if you call them 'review sessions,' it's a brilliant excuse to be able to talk with you alone every day."

Laura didn't even realize that Professor Layton got into his car and was waving before taking his foot off the break. Sure that her face looked more silly than anything, she broke from her daze and waved, smiling awkwardly as the little car pulled away from the curb. She breathed in deeply, stretching toward the vacuum of space, feeling like she could float away if she merely wished for it. She packed a snowball, tossing it as far as she could into the street, smiling as it smashed into a drift. It was a first for twirling from pure happiness; it wasn't odd that she twirled, as she often would when she knew she was alone while walking. But now, it was like being a top, and having it be your purpose to just spin, spin, spin for the joy of it.

She was reluctant to return to the house, but knocked on the door, the only resolution. Quickly, she slipped her gift into her bag.

Her mother squinted through the mini window on the door, quickly unlocking it. "About time you returned! I wondered if I should have been more paranoid and gotten the names of the girls you went with. I would have called their mothers!"

"It's not too late. We saw a movie after all," she lied, smiling lazily. Her mother locked the door again, a suspicious air hanging about the conversation.

"And what movie did you see?"

"Oh, that new one about some guy who meets some girl. They're all the same."

"Oh? And the time it started?" She grabbed a local newspaper, flipping to the movie times.

Laura groaned. "Really, mum, I'm 18. My birthday is today, remember? After all this time, you really think I'm trying to pull the wool over your eyes? 6:30. Then we got something to eat."

Raising her eyebrows, the blonde and svelte Mrs. Haris tossed the paper onto a stand and shook a finger at her daughter. "Clever girl. Too clever. We best keep our eye on you. Your father and I want nothing going wrong with you. Can't be having another loss… It's not that we don't trust you, it's that we don't believe that you may have looked into every possible situation, any occurrence that may happen. We're keeping tabs."

She shuffled to the reading room, mumbling something to herself about changing the drapes. Laura flew up the stairs, glad for checking the newspaper before making her exit with the Professor earlier. The lie was sound and solid.

She shut her bedroom door behind her.

Her face hurt from smiling, she stood with her back against the door for so long. Her mind raced. Whatever it was she was feeling, it was disgustingly wonderful. It was almost like a pleasant nausea, her mind creating feelings that swept too quickly through her system, thus making her dizzy, feeling almost sick and ecstatic at the same time. She was spinning endlessly in her mind, the world a blur. But it didn't matter anymore. None of it. Only top hats and the scents of warm teas.

"I don't know what _any_ of this is. It's almost a disease, and it only goes away when I'm with the Professor."

She pulled the piano book out from her bag, placing it carefully amongst her other piano music. It was too much fuss to bother with pajamas and teeth brushing for the evening. The night drained her mentally. There was nothing so hectic as piano concerts, fancy restaurants, ironic meetings, acting, and puzzle solving all in the matter of a few hours. Falling back onto her bedspread, she closed her eyes.

'_He won't be frank with me, and I definitely wouldn't be open with him, but… By his words, it's pretty obvious. For once, I have someone who understands the world. Someone who understands _me.'

"I…have a best friend."


	15. CHAPTER 15: ONLY THE LONELY CAN PLAY

**OOH. Chapter 15. This is definitely the only story I've bothered continuing for so long! Hee hee. Hope some people hold out until this gets back to present day Layton. That's when the REAL fun begins! It's more serious, less feelings oriented. But I have to build a foundation, have to build up a part of Layton's past.**

**It was difficult writing this chapter. I didn't know how much to leave in, how much to take out. It was difficult to decide. I wonder if I truly captured what I wanted to but…I'm considering drawing this in comic format. It's easier for me to tell a story that way. D:**

**WHICH REMINDS ME. I have drawn Laura, if anyone cares. REMOVE THE SPACE AFTER IT SAYS "DEVIANTART" IN THE URL!**

**This is what she looks like in Layton-style (I tried!): deviantart .com/art/Laura-Haris-in-Layton-Style-280039478?q=gallery%3A008kenichijouji&qo=2**

**And in my style: deviantart .com/art/The-Jokes-Are-Among-Us-278792467?q=gallery%3A008kenichijouji%2F7619473&qo=4**

**Anyway. This is the last of my lame feelings/lovey dovey chapters for now. The next one will be a break from it, as something quite different will happen. I'm going to step away from the puzzled Layton and the ever-angry Laura combo for a bit, take them away from their own worries for a chapter. :] OH MAN I CAN'T WAIT. -chews on laptop-**

**THERE'S A LAME PUZZLE IN THIS CHAPTER. There will be another lame one in the next. I'm trying to make up my own, although they aren't very good. :[[[[[**

**Anyway, here you go.**

**I really hate the formatting on these fanfics...I want it to look like a Word document! :[ IF YOU NOTICE ANY STRANGE BREAKS IN THE STORY, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I often put a series of dashes when I want to change scenes, but...they haven't been showing on here. I need to go back and fix all those...**

**Avoiding civilization,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 15: ONLY THE LONELY CAN PLAY**

"Care for a ride?"

Laura, Millie, and Clara were walking along the not-yet-plowed sidewalk, trudging through half a meter of powdery white snow that was unceremoniously dumped on the city overnight, when their archaeology professor pulled up along the curb, window down.

"Doesn't look very appealing, being walking snow shovels!"

Millie practically vaulted herself at the car, clambering to the front passenger side door, before wrenching it open and brushing the frozen precipitate all over the seat. Clara and Laura followed suit (but not as theatrically) and sat in the back seats.

"Oh goodness, Professor Layton, you couldn't have come at a more perfect time! Look at this! It's a blizzard! We couldn't get the car dug out this morning. Papa about had a _fit_, what with the butler not thinking about digging it out sooner! Lazy sod!" As usual, it was a tragic morning for a tragically fated girl, as Millie Miller often saw it. Laura rolled her eyes, contrasting the Professor's half-hearted chuckle.

"My word, it _is_ quite the weather, isn't it? Only water though, Miss Miller. I think you'll live." He pulled the car into a faculty parking lot and brought the little vehicle to a crunching halt, a poorly plowed pile of iced snow grinding against the bottom of the car. "Oh dear. That could have been better."

Millie and Clara thanked the Professor—complete with overly girly giggles and batted lashes—and made the short walk to the front of their classroom building, Laura pretending to start off behind them. She turned around to see what was taking their teacher so long.

"Would you mind giving me a hand, Laura?" he grunted behind a large pile of books, holding them carefully as he walked warily across a patch of ice. "Perhaps walk with me and just open that door, yes, thank you, that saves me the trouble of potentially dropping all these…"

Laura looked at the titles on the books as they continued inside. "New textbooks?"

He nodded, setting the tower down outside his office door. He smiled as he breathed in and out a few times, catching his breath. "Precisely, they are course readers. I put these together as supplemental material. You look so enthused," he said with a chuckle.

"Oh, yes, quite," she said sardonically, raising her eyebrows. "Can't wait."

"You'll be getting one soon enough, so contain your excitement." A quick turn of the lock and the Professor entered his office. "See you in class!"

Laura walked through the sea of seated girls in the classroom, unable to help herself from listening in on some of the girls' conversation.

"Well, none of you need even _bother_, because I've already made up my mind about it!" Millie crossed her arms defiantly, curls bobbing against her poised shoulders. "As soon as this class is out, I'm going straight to his office and asking him!"

The other girls chattered pleasantly, some admonishing in tone.

"You can't _possibly_ ask a professor to an outing on Valentine's Day. It's much too obvious, if not foolish!" Amy said exasperatedly. "Everyone knows you can't do such things with your professor—"

"Oh, and who's going to say a word, if not _you_? I'll have you know, Hershel is on my radar, and professor or not, he's free game! I don't care an iota about his age or his position as our teacher. I must say, that hat he's been wearing is quite fetching… Anyway, ladies, let it be known that men of his social status, of his caliber, are my prey." She clawed the air and purred like an overly sensual cat, yet giggled like a flustered finch when Professor Layton strode past the front row of the desks, hurriedly tossing his briefcase into his chair.

"Alright, ladies, before I forget, be sure to grab a course reader from my office after class. It's essential to…"

His words were drowned out by Millie's former conversation on repeat, going through Laura's head like bees in a hive. She felt her heart sink after hearing Millie carry on about Valentine's Day and the Professor. She'd completely forgotten about the holiday, not feeling it had much significance before. But perhaps _this_ year…well, it was a bit different, albeit uncomfortable. It wasn't as if she had come out and laid her feelings on the table, and neither did he. But somehow, she felt it would be perfectly appropriate to get him a gift of some sort.

That was, until she started to second guess her thoughts, for the thousandth time.

'_What if I'm reading him wrong, and I get him something, and he takes it the wrong way? It might cost me a lot of hurt, and a decent grade in the course! I really, really shouldn't be carrying on like this. Maybe I'll just stick with my usual February 14__th__ routine and eat a small piece of chocolate cream candy that mum gets father…_'

A spindly finger poked her on the nose, making her eyes flutter as they focused.

"_Psst_! Laura!" Millie was turned in her desk, facing behind her at Laura's still surprised expression. "I'll be interrupting your wittle review session this afternoon. Got to get a word in early about our Valentine's celebration! How do you think tea downtown in London sounds…?"

Laura shook her head, eyes squinted in disbelief. "You _do_ go on about the silliest things, don't you?"

"You're right, it's time with Hershel. I'll be satisfied no matter _where_ we go!" she chortled.

"That's not my point. What I mean is, since you stalk, I thought you'd already know… But, I guess if you don't know, then I won't bother telling you."

Millie's eyes lit up, her sense for gossip homing in on Laura's every word. "_What_ should I already know?"

"Well, you should know…that he already has a girlfriend!" Laura hissed before she had time to process her words. She immediately regretted her statement as Millie's eyes widened to the size of cup saucers, Laura's guilt continuing to the size of a dinner platter.

"How do _you_ know about that? I thought he was only interested in someone, not, well, _committed_," she whispered harshly. "How would you know that?"

Thinking quickly, she shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it's hard not to hear rumors being spread in the hall. They're like the common cold, changing, finding a new host all the time."

Millie spun back around in her desk, facing forward as Professor Layton finished writing on the board. He turned towards the class, smiling as he continued on with his lecture. Laura felt guilty for spreading such a ridiculous lie, knowing full good and well that it would probably come back to her like a razor-sharp boomerang.

'_I really don't know why I said any of that… I really don't. Maybe I felt a bit...defensive? I didn't like Millie talking about the Professor that way. I don't feel that…she's allowed to._

_But I am? Is that fair? I'm still not comfortable with all this…this feelings business!'_

The reviews with her professor had continued on as discussed the night of her birthday. She would go to class, enjoy (or try to enjoy) lunch, rap on Professor Layton's office door quickly and enter without a word, but would leave with plenty having been said. It became too difficult to hide the fact that she looked forward to the daily discussions, perhaps even _relied_ on them, as she would eventually get to talking more openly, more animatedly, something she only did with those she felt most comfortable around. It was rare, but it had been happening all the same. As much as she showed more and more of herself, however, the less open the Professor seemed to be, although Laura could tell the love for the conversation was mutual between them. He seemed more interested in hearing her talk, making her feel slightly self-conscious.

Now though, for a surprisingly first time, Millie was a threat, trying to take away her daily routine. At least, that was the answer Laura gave herself. Surely, it wasn't _jealousy_…

With the class finally having ended, Laura tried to get to the door before Millie, but with no luck, as she had been sitting behind the girl after all. With Millie's gold curly head having cleared the door frame a few girls ahead, Laura watched as Millie took a right down a deserted hallway, almost skipping. Laura smiled inwardly, a mischievous joy spreading through her brain: she knew her own route was the quickest.

She took the same path to the office that she took every weekday, but slightly earlier than usual. Lunch could wait; she had a finish line to cross. She hastened her steps, feeling the muscles in her lower calves tense up. Several science labs exited the classrooms just ahead, apparently finishing earlier than scheduled.

'_I'm just so lucky…_'

Cutting through a throng of girls, attempting to apologize as she interrupted several discussions and gossip sessions, she decided to abandon manners by the wayside, as she wanted to be sure she could secure the office before—

"Professor Layton, may I have a word with you?"

'_For the love of God… She actually was serious about taking my review time away, and now she's bested my route!_'

With affirmation from the Professor to continue, Millie began her marketing ploys. Laura stood just outside the office door, listening around the corner to the Miller girl lace her voice with all the femininity that she could muster. Girls from the class walked by the office in intervals, each taking the topmost book from the course reader pile that the Professor had left out. Laura waited with bated breath, watching the tower of books dwindle to a mere stack of five.

"…and it _is_ Valentine's, and I didn't want you to feel lonely, so me and a few of the girls would like to treat you to the best tea house that London has to offer! Surely you're free?"

A slight pause, then a low chuckle. Laura was sure the Professor's face was red and he was a bit lost for words. Perhaps a slight straightening of the hat, any device to prolong his deliverance of an answer.

"I'm sure you could find better company to spend Valentine's Day with?" he tried to reason. "Some young man from Gressenheller would love to be your company for the afternoon, I'm sure—"

"Professor, you're really quite charming, don't insult yourself! I'm sure you're just fine to have a chat over tea with. Come now, how about it? It's a Sunday, we can go downtown in the afternoon and be back by evening!" she suggested, urgency rising in her voice.

The Professor cleared his throat. "Well, it's not so much that, as it is that I have a previous engagement…"

Laura imagined Millie's disappointed, horrorstruck face and had to stifle a low giggle.

"But, well, there's the whole day, perhaps another time on Sunday?"

"That means, Miss Miller, that I have plans for the whole of the 14th. I apologize for letting you down, but I'm sure you'll have a smashing time making plans with others."

"But, but—!"

Show time.

Laura knocked on the half open door, signaling her presence. "Um, sorry if I'm intruding. Do we still have a review session, Professor?"

"Ah, yes, Laura, please come in," he smiled, relief in his eyes. "Millie, if you'd like to stay for archaeology review, we'd love for you to join in on our discussion of today's material."

Without so much as a word, her facial expression confirmed the answer for them, sneering bitterly at Laura as she walked past. "Perhaps another time, Professor… I'll be off then."

"Good day, Millie." The door shut with a bang, Layton smiling almost triumphantly. "Oh dear, she was quite unhappy."

"Oh, don't worry. She'll find another date, I'm sure of it," Laura said lightly, taking a seat. "I didn't know she celebrated it so fondly anyway."

"Hmm, curious as to why she hadn't found someone who more closely shares her interests, I really don't understand why she continues to—but I suppose it's not my place to wonder about such things..." He fussed over a teapot, adding ingredients to a small metal net ball. "While I'm thinking about it, I won't be available tomorrow after class for review. Departmental meeting at Gressenheller."

Laura frowned, genuinely upset, but she wasn't going to let him know that. "I see."

"I feel bad for providing you with short notice, but I wasn't informed until this morning. I was wondering how you'd like to make it up? Say, Saturday. Would you be available on Saturday?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "On the weekend?"

"Why, does knowledge take the weekend off?" he chortled, setting the teapot on his desk, replacing the cap to let it steep. "You can help me figure out how to bake, as my house assistant and personal chef is out for the weekend."

"Bake? What for?"

He winked. "That's a puzzle for you."

She sat quietly, trying to think of what he needed baked goods for, then furrowed her brow. "Well, that doesn't sound like a review session as much as it does an opportunity to provide you with a favor." Meeting his smile with a sarcastic one, Laura crossed her arms loosely.

"Hmm. Well, okay, I suppose it's not much of a puzzle at all. You see, since you seem to have the hang of food preparation, after sampling your dish before winter break and partaking of your Christmas cookies, I figured you could help me make something for someone special," he said, pouring himself and her a cup of tea.

"Uh, and who would that be?" she dared to ask. She secretly wished he'd say something along the lines of "_Why, you of course!_" but knew him better, and immediately chastised herself.

The Professor laughed deeply, as if at her curious expression. "Why, I'm merely surprising my good friend and maid, Rosa. She's done quite a bit for me these past months and I'd like to pay her back with one of her favorite treats. I'm not very good with baking…" He casually opened the archaeology textbook he used for the class, eyeing her carefully from underneath the brim of his hat. "Of course, you're more than welcome to make extra for yourself to enjoy as well."

Defeated, Laura tried turning off her emotional responses for the remainder of the review, finding it difficult to contain her irritation sparked by his comments.

'_Oh, someone special indeed! I'm silly for thinking it was anything more. I really should know better. Really, I need to let this all just die. I don't care what happened over my birthday, I need to see reason. There's nothing to any of this, to us! There's nothing._'

He continued his condensed lecture, never straying from the topics, contrary to what they'd been doing for every review prior. It was almost as if he was more focused on the task at hand when he was mentally buried in thoughts of other things. Then, as Laura was jotting down something about an excavation in Italy, he grabbed his coat. "Ready to go?"

Stopping her pencil in mid-sentence, she looked up, flustered. "But, what about review? Wait, '_ready to go_'? Um, meaning…?"

"You have engineering over at Gressenheller on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, correct?"

"Well, yes, but I just catch the bus at 1:30, so—"

"I can drive you today," he said matter of factly, closing his briefcase with a click. "I have business over there anyway."

"Well, okay, if you…say so?" Laura grabbed her things hurriedly and followed the Professor out the door quietly. "How did you know when I have engineering?"

He glanced behind him, slowing down to match her gait. "I'm good friends with your professor, Benjamin Sansonite. He lauds you often for your progress in the class. But regardless, I know his schedule."

"_Lauds_ me? I'm sure he doesn't. I did terribly on the last project," she mumbled, ending with a heavy groan. "Then there's _this_ class." She rapped her knuckles against the hard cover of the new archaeology text book.

"Really now! It's not so bad, honestly…"

They entered the car, Laura breathing against her stiff hands. "I really could have just taken the bus. It's much too early to go to engineering class now."

"I suppose so. You'll just have to spend your free time reviewing in my office," he said with a weak laugh. "Say, what's your favorite food?"

"Well, I have quite a few… What do you want to know _that_ for?" she asked hesitantly.

Layton merely shook his head. "Nothing important. Only curious."

"That's a rather strange thing to randomly be curious about, wouldn't you say?"

"Hmm. Perhaps. But it's not random at all, as you'll be helping me bake. It's much less a favor and more a deliverance from me disgracing the kitchen with my lack of skill. I plan to pay you back, you know."

"Oh?"

"Indeed, that's what a gentleman does," he said with a wink, a slight inflection of his voice. The humming of the car engine was all that could be heard for some time, Laura gazing out the window at the heavy snowfall that blanketed the city. They arrived presently at their destination as Layton parked the car. "Mind the car next to you. Its owner is quite lacking in the parking department… Oh my, it's Beverly Warvel's, old girl shouldn't have a license, really. That sounds awful, but…"

After crossing the campus, the Professor unlocked his office door and flipped the light switch as he entered the dimly lit room. Tossing his coat onto a worn couch, he ambled around the desk and sat behind it, fingering through a pile of graded papers, almost forgetting his company.

"This really is _not_ a race, you know!" Laura huffed in exasperation, finally making it to the entrance of the office. "Don't forget, you're quite taller than me!"

He laughed nervously, slightly anxious. "I'm sorry, Laura, I was lost in thought. I—yes, I apologize. I have no excuse." He motioned to one of the empty guest chairs at the front of his desk. Laura closed the office door and walked up to one but didn't sit. "Please, take a seat."

"Professor, are you really busy on Sunday?" she blurted out.

He looked up slowly from his students' papers, plain faced. She really couldn't read what was going on in his mind. "Well, why would I have told Miss Miller that I would be, if I really wouldn't be?"

"Because you have a way of speaking in puzzles," said his student, piercing his gaze with one equally as discerning. "Rather, you find loopholes in the discussion and reply in a way that gives an answer to a person's question, but doesn't really _answer_ it, if you know what I mean."

Layton smiled, shaking his head. "As perceptive as always. Since you're so smart, do you really need me to confirm your suspicions? …I'll take your silence as an answer."

"Does a gentleman lie to an innocent, young lady?" Laura asked cockily.

"And, Miss Laura, where does a gentleman draw the line, if his intentions are already set to make another young lady happy? Tell me that." He returned his gaze to his papers, not bothering to make eye contact. "I never lied to her. I said I was busy."

She sat down in the chair heavily, crossing her legs as she grumbled to herself. "Really now! Omission of information might as well be considered a lie, at least in my book. And who might this '_another young lady_' be?"

The girl sunk back deeper into her chair as the Professor let out an unusual laugh, almost as if he was thwarted, found out, and was trying to blow it off with a poker face. Laura decided rather quickly it was unnerving; if she didn't know him better, she might have thought he was being a tad rude, laughing at her in such a way. To put it bluntly, it was a very 'un-Laytonesque' laugh.

"Laura, have I made plans with you?"

"Well, not for Sunday…"

"Then, you know for sure who it _isn't_. Now, no more hints. You might want to start off to your class. It's about a 10 minute walk from this building to the engineering hall." Giving a small smile, he returned to marking off the papers he was holding. Laura stood up abruptly, her quick and jerky movements startling her teacher. "My, Laura, whatever is the matter?"

Swinging her bag over her shoulder, a gavel pounded inside her mind. Decision final, she was done. Done with the mind games, done with the stupid internal puzzle solving. It was getting out of hand, a giant game of back and forth, hints and hidden messages.

'_Gentleman, gentleman this and that, all over, under and through! Lies lies lies. What an uppity little brat he's turned out to be. Professor or not, he's driving me insane. Perhaps I'm mental, but then, I really don't need to be hanging around this sort!'_

She turned and walked towards the door, not bothering with facing him. She didn't care if it was impolite, or uncharacteristic even. "Don't bother giving me any more puzzles until you solve your own. I'm done with having my questions being met with the off-putting ones you deal out." She turned with a blank stare, but made it certain that her eyes gave off her feelings, glaring fire and brimstone. Her voice never rose above a mild pitch, which proved a bit unsettling for the Professor. Her expression was fiery, tone quiet, but it was laced with venom. "When I ask a question, I expect it to be answered. I've told you this before. Professor or not, good friend or not, you've become a bother. But I'll give credit for where it's due: thank you for the ride."

With a turn of the handle she wrenched open the door and flew out, promptly slamming it with a rattling thud that shook the smaller knick-knacks on the Professor's shelves. He stared, dumbstruck, at the spot she had just been sitting at. When he mentally accepted the situation, he felt a sense of self-loathing.

'_Completely unexpected, not to mention nerve-racking! I didn't think she'd ever react in such a way. I suppose I should stop playing with her, although…I thought she'd be more astute to picking up my meanings… I guess it _is _a bit vague, especially since, well…it _is_ Laura. She's a bit strict when it comes to methods of solving problems. Doesn't like floundering about in a sea of mixed messages…'_

He sat the graded papers on the desk, a sensation stronger than disappointment and pity stirring from within. It was almost a lethal mix of sadness, embarrassment, and fear, as if he didn't want to come face to face with her ever again, but he knew he'd regret ever letting that happen. It was different from resolving communication problems with students in the past. They were underneath him, never reaching his level, separated by an invisible plane. He felt confident, correcting poor behavior or addressing dilemmas that occurred between members of the student body, or between himself and them.

But this time…it was as if his self-esteem was taken down a notch, as if he were a scolded puppy that meant well enough to curry favor, but didn't know how to go about it.

Two knocks, and Rosa tipped her head in through the cracked door. "Professor? My, my, what was that banging of the door about?"

"A disgruntled student, no less…" He stood, slowly making his way around the desk.

"Would you like me to make you a pot of tea before I head out?"

He smiled, shaking his head. "That isn't necessary, Rosa. Leaving so soon?"

"Well, I did mean to leave this evening, but I'd like to get a head start on my packing. Earl isn't quite as enthused to take up his own luggage, so I might as well do it for him, the lout!" The small woman handed him an envelope. "Do take care of yourself this weekend. Treat yourself out on Sunday, will you? Surely, you must have _some_ lady friend you'd like to take along?"

The Professor laughed, waving off her words like so many annoying flies. "Now, now, Rosa, I'm much too busy for that, but I'll be sure to enjoy the holiday in my own way."

"Really, now, Professor, sitting at home with a cup of tea—like any other day, mind you!—does _not_ count! But if you insist….I'll see you when I come back, dearie! Do clean up after yourself now!"

"Take care, Rosa," he said quietly, waiting for the door to click shut before loosening his already struggling smile. He opened the envelope carefully with a letter opener, letting out a snort-like laugh upon reading its contents.

* * *

"Laura isn't here today, Professor," Clara answered in a sing-song voice. "Might be sick!"

Professor Layton looked at the only empty desk in the room, already knowing who was missing, but asked the class anyway. It had been empty for two days' time now. "Ah, yes, Miss Haris… Anyone know about her whereabouts?" Everyone shook their heads. "I see. Hmm, well, perhaps she's really taken ill. I suppose it _is_ the time for illnesses to spread about…"

The class started and ended as usual, many of the students grumbling at the introduction of a new puzzle. Layton had become accustomed to it, waiting only for whatever puzzle Laura had to hand to him during their review session.

'_Looks like I'm not getting one today either…_' he realized, feeling slightly disappointed. '_Perhaps I should contact her about missing two days' worth of class. It's strange, after all, not at all like her._'

He fumbled his key ring in his empty hand, shuffling the keys around to locate the office one, before finally looking up at the door. He was startled to find his missing student standing next to his message board. "My word, Laura, what on earth are you doing there, you gave me a fright…."

She responded emotionless, blank as a slate. "My father forced me to come for a review session. Says missing two classes will kill my grade, and then basically that I will _want_ to be killed when I have to suffer his consequences for a failing grade."

Layton smiled enthusiastically, having had muddled through his feelings about her brash reaction nights ago. He was rather eager to wipe the slate clean and start over, so to speak, and was quite relieved she'd even showed herself, given her raw anger days ago. "I see. Well, if you insist, I'd be glad to host a review session for you. Come in."

Both took their respective seats, the Professor behind the desk, Laura in the guest chair. "I'm sorry about my reaction the other day, Professor," said Laura, staring at the top of the desk rather than at his face. "It was slightly childish, even if I felt it was justified. However, I meant every word of it." She eyed him carefully, making sure he caught and understood the last part. "I can't tolerate mind games anymore."

With another smile, Professor Layton chuckled. "Agreed and understood. I'll be more direct then, if possible. Now then, shall we discuss the material you've missed these past two days?"

After finishing the review, Laura would typically give more thoughts about whatever topic it was that they'd strayed to during their discussion, but today, the Professor shut his book and immediately returned his focus to his own work.

"Have yourself a good day now, Laura. Enjoy the sun while it lasts." He tore into an essay from another course, failing to direct his vision in her direction. Laura raised an eyebrow.

"Are you really so busy?"

He looked up with a slightly bemused smile. "Have I ever _not_ been?"

"Well, you surely never ended so, so… suddenly?" She pulled her bag strap onto her shoulder and gave a tilted grin. "I'll see you Saturday then."

"Oh yes, about that…" He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a handout. "This should suffice for a review. I think it will suit you much better to not be distracted by our unconventional 'review' sessions. They aren't really reviews after all if we end up merely chatting. That's rather direct, I wager you'll appreciate it much more than a battle of wits, as our reviews tend to become."

"But…that's…really not what I—"

"I still do need help with baking though, so for that reason, you're still more than welcome to stop by, but it's not necessary by any means," he said, challenging her with another maddening smile.

"That's really not what I meant though," she said, slightly irritated. "I have no trouble with the discussions we have! Why would you get that idea?"

"Well, then whatever would have made you so upset the other day? You want things cut and dry, black and white. Reviews should be just that: review. That's what you said—"

"I'm talking about—!" She stopped mid-sentence, hitting a mental brick wall.

'_I…can't tell him what I'm talking about…I can't just say 'I'm tired of you hiding your feelings', or at least alluding to feelings that I _think_ are there! That's just too presumptuous! Is it a trap? Maybe he's trying to get me to admit to something, confess something. Oooh, what a cunning but seedy move! A bit dodgy, this… I'm not going to lose! Oh I just hate myself…_'

The Professor looked at her carefully, chancing a chuckle. "Laura? What are you talking about?"

She shook her head, grabbing her bag. "Nothing. Nothing at all, nothing important. I'll come by in the afternoon tomorrow, then." She didn't give him a second glance and exited the room silently, failing to notice the successful grin on her educator's face.

* * *

"I'm coming, I'm coming…ah! Laura, so you decided to stop by after all."

It was a bitterly cold Saturday afternoon, although the sun taunted with its dazzling warm rays, blindingly reflecting off of the snow. After a few unremitting loud knocks, Professor Layton opened the front door wide, allowing his student entry. He took her coat and bag, placing it on a wooden peg on the wall near the door. Laura stepped out of her shoes and walked gingerly onto the living room carpet, careful to check the floor for possible snag points on which she'd ruin her black pantyhose.

"I hope you're having a good afternoon," she said promptly after the front door was shut and locked.

"I am, and to you I hope the same." He rubbed and cupped his hands together, blowing warm air into them. "I apologize for the chill. Seems my heater is on the mend." He jabbed a thumb randomly in the direction of the furnace. "I had to call maintenance from the college to lend a hand, but it's no problem. It'll be done soon, I expect. In the meantime, shall we?"

Laura had never seen beyond the front room before, but was thoroughly impressed with its size and choice of décor as the Professor led her past the living room and into the kitchen. "I love this tile, very warm, very earthy."

"Glad you approve. I've taken the liberty of preparing our ingredients beforehand, but…we'll see how we can manage until the end." He handed her an old yellowed index card, several stains and old crust along the edges.

"Must be a favorite," she said, tentatively turning the card over and analyzing the back. "It's um…_well used_, I suppose."

"Indeed." He pulled a few large mixing bowls from under a counter cabinet. "Now, I'll just go check on the furnace's progress, you can feel free to start where you must. I'll be back shortly."

Laura looked after the Professor as he vanished around the corner, shouting down the basement staircase as he addressed the mechanic through the din of a drill of some sort. He descended the stairs in a series of heavy clomps, closing the door behind him.

She noticed the refrigerator was full of appointment reminders and book titles, all written on tiny Post-It notes or index cards held fast by a magnet. A bright red card caught her attention, its crease not allowing it to lay completely closed as it hung loosely by a small button magnet. Laura peered inside briefly, studying the compact and rigid script. She barely had time to furrow her forehead in curious thought before she heard the Professor return to the ground floor. Taking her place back at the counter, she pretended she hadn't moved since he'd left.

"Any luck?"

"I thought I'd wait for you to come back. After all, I don't really know what you're confused about. Baking is quite simple when it's this sort of recipe." She started adding ingredients to the large metal bowl, mentally checking off the items from the list.

He laughed, washing his hands. "Well, I'm no pro at it, so…"

After a few minutes of educating her Professor, Laura fell silent, letting him stir after she got it started. Without a mixer, stirring batter 100 times was daunting, and taking turns, essential. She watched him methodically take to the whisk, as if he'd done it before. She squinted her eyes.

'_I'm not stupid. This baking business isn't for Rosa at all…_'

Laura cleared her throat nervously. "Professor, if I may be so bold, this _baking_ that we're doing. It can't possibly be for Rosa." She turned her head just so to catch a glimpse of his expression. He stoically rinsed the mixing bowl in the sink after pouring the batter into a pan, his face unchanging.

"And why can't it be for Rosa?"

"Rosa is on vacation for a month, is she not? You'd really bake something for someone who won't be back in town before your treats spoil?" There was a thick silence despite the running faucet. "Surely you don't mean to freeze what you intend to bake, because that's what you'll have to do."

"I told you she'd be gone over the weekend. Where did you ever get the idea she would be gone for the month?" He looked at her, then at the red card she was pointing to on the refrigerator. "Hmm, aren't you brazenly curious!"

"I wasn't _snooping_, if that's what you mean. I was admiring your collage of reminders and it was right there, lying half open. I caught a glimpse. She mentions her being gone for about a month."

Fruit of their labors finally in the oven, he clapped off excess flour and wiped his hands against a towel. "Seems you've solved the mystery, Inspector Haris. Indeed, dearest Rosa is taking a much deserved month-long vacation and is leaving me to my own devices." He filled a kettle, placing it on the stove. "What is also true is that I really had no intention of baking for Rosa, although I daresay she deserves it."

Laura scoffed, washing her hands messily. "Then what is my purpose for being here? This is quite a waste of time. You lied to me."

Placing two mugs heavily on the counter, he gave her a stern but caring look. "I did not lie to you. This isn't a waste of—"

"All finished, Professor Lakeville!"

A rotund mechanic about the size of the refrigerator emerged from the depths of the house, covered in a dull black substance. He held out the work order. "If you can just sign right down there, I'll be out of your hair—or in your case, your hat!—in a jiffy!"

The Professor happily took a pen from his pants pocket, changing his expression in an instant. "Of course, my good man. I can't thank you enough, really. Coming out here on such a cold day, I really am appreciative."

"Aw, it's me job, you know. Gotta give you warmth enough to enjoy your pretty company here." He winked towards Laura, who only smiled lazily. "Anyway, I'll be off then!"

The Professor saw him out the door and returned to the kitchen, taking in the scent of their cake in the oven.

"Anyway, I—" He received a stack of cassettes, courtesy of Laura pressing them into his hands. "What's this?"

"A gift, obviously," she said curtly before turning and walking towards the living room. "I set a timer for that cake."

She took a book from the shelf that she'd noticed the last time she'd been to the old house, settling herself into a chair. Layton followed her from the kitchen, looking each tape over.

"Well, it's not every day a person gets handed three unlabeled cassette tapes. Is there anything recorded on them?"

"I thought I'd give them to you blank. Yes, there's something recorded on them," she laughed. "It's a puzzle. Make up for the days I missed at school. You'll have to figure out what the songs are and who wrote them. But don't bother right now. I don't want to die from laughter, watching you listen to them and get all flustered."

Ignoring her giggles, he placed the tapes next to a phonograph on one of the book shelves. "Ha ha, very funny. And what makes you think I'd be ignorant about the song titles and composers?"

Setting her book on the table, Laura looked up, smiling. "Trust me. You won't know. Bonus points if you can guess who's playing them."

"My word, this just might indeed prove impossible," said the Professor, chuckling as he took a seat. "Although I have a hunch on the pianist. Considering these were at one point blank tapes, and yourself are a gifted pianist, I'd wager you played them."

Laura theatrically waved her hands in the air. "Woo hoo, you got it, _Inspector Layton_," she said sarcastically, but with a warm smile. "Very intuitive."

"Although, you may need to redo these, as I don't think they'll sound very crisp." He rushed to the kitchen as the timer sent out a shrill series of beeps. He was taking the cake out of the oven as Laura rushed to the doorway, quickly following behind him, her expression inquisitive.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, they won't sound as good as they could," he said casually, removing his oven mitts. "You'll see when you get home. Now then, I'll just let this cool. Would you like a cup of tea? It's hot though, I apologize."

Slightly miffed, Laura put her hands on her hips. "What are you on about, _again_? Do you really enjoy puzzles so much that you have to buzz me with one in every comment you make?"

"Hmm, you know, I just might. It's quite enjoyable, you know."

"The puzzles, or making me forever curious?"

"Let's see, hmm. Both."

He walked to the living room, leaving her behind with another beguiling smile and a mindful of rage.

'_Really…..really….I'm about ready to punch something_.'

Two cups of tea later, Laura sat in silence, stewing secretively in her seat. The Professor was going on about something, or perhaps someone. Maybe some_where_? Who cares, she thought. She didn't know anything about it, and made slight nods and grimaces to make her acknowledgement of the discussion believable. Her own tea cup remained untouched, convincing enough, as she hated hot beverages anyway. He wouldn't have thought it was anything out of the ordinary. The Professor, however, was quite fond of his drink, and was on his third cup.

Suddenly, she rose from her seat, smoothing creases from her long sweater. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Oh, it's up the stairs," Layton said, catching his bearings after the interruption. "It will be on your immediate left once you reach the top."

It was a very green bathroom, the emerald tiles and sink glistening as if the gemstones were actually present in the material. Laura glanced out the small frosted window, noticing the sun was already beginning its descent. She sighed, staring into the mirror.

'_I really can't take much more of his puzzles and hidden messages. I just have to be forthright. Maybe that will get him to say something. It's starting to really irritate me, as if he finds this all hilarious! Perhaps he's just playing coy about it all. After all, he shouldn't really be…I shouldn't really be…well…yes, this really is all wrong, I suppose…I'm surprised about the whole birthday thing. I mean, honestly! Holding my hand, claiming it was to keep me warm? That's supposedly what a gentleman does? What a lie!'_

She washed her face off and dried quickly with a hand towel. With a confidence-boosting glare at her reflection, she smiled craftily.

"I'll put these damned puzzles to a bitter end at last. Feelings and emotions and all that poppycock."

She left the bathroom, feeding on self-esteem, depending on it to carry her through the rest of the evening.

'_Feelings…damn them all to hell._'

Laura came back down to find the Professor absent from the room. She looked around timidly, wondering if it was rude to walk about his house as she was now doing.

"Um, Professor? Professor Layton? Where are you?" She ventured into a dark room just off of the kitchen. The curtains were drawn completely in front of the windows. What light could get in cast strange shadows across the floor. With a flip of the switch, Laura found herself staring at several hundred artifacts, a majority of them small and stacked on shelves, but some standing on their own with minimal assistance from stands and other display contraptions. The Professor's briefcase lay open on a desk on the wall opposite the door. She walked over to it, and jumped slightly when she heard him call from outside the room.

"Laura, your dinner is getting cold!"

"Dinner…?" she muttered to herself. After looking around a bit more she walked out.

"Ah, there you are. Found my home office, did you?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Home office. You have three offices then. Poor Rosa. No wonder she needs a month-long break, what with _you_ being the slob she must tidy up after…"

"That's not completely fair!" Layton sputtered, cheeks turning red.

"It's plenty fair. You are fond of clutter, after all," she said confidently. "You office is disgusting."

"Anyway," he interrupted, clearing his throat in nervousness, "come. The dining room has a present."

He led her to a seat at the long wooden table, a spread of food on the top. Laura stood behind her chair, mouth agape.

"Um, how exactly did this get here?"

"Timely as you are, when you were in the bathroom, my delivery came. Sorry, it's not homemade, but it's the next best thing. It's more of an upscale carry-out, if you will. I don't always have time to…well, let's just say, when Rosa's not available to cook, I don't always have time to prepare meals…"

"Slob about your office, plus lazy otherwise as well." She took a seat, triumphant in stabbing his pride.

Indeed, upscale was the correct word, as a few traditional fancy staples sat on pure white platters. Steak, chicken of some sort, several piles of steamed vegetables and different starches… Laura laughed out loud. "Really now! Is this _really_ even necessary? I didn't know I was being fed. I feel quite undeserving."

"Nonsense, tuck in. It was a gift from a friend, anyway, so don't feel indebted." He already had a plate full of everything and waited patiently for his student to pick and choose her delights. "This is why I asked about your favorite food but…I never got an answer."

She shook her head, still incredulous, but attempting to hide it. "I'm glad I never told you! I would have felt extremely self-conscious. This really is not necessary. Really, it's not…"

After several minutes of thanks and apologies on Laura's part, and a long discussion about whatever topics decided to sew themselves together, an uneasy quiet reigned in on the conversation, commanding it effortlessly. Layton took sips from his cup many times, seemingly thirsty, but Laura knew better. He seemed to be getting unnaturally uncomfortable, atypical of his usual chatty demeanor when they'd chat. Both finished up their plates, the Professor carefully taking their dishes to the kitchen sink. Laura helped clean up and pack away any unfinished food, looking thoughtfully at the cake atop the oven when she'd stopped with cleaning.

"Shall we frost it?" she inquired, somewhat childlike, anxious to have a slice. The Professor took a lid off of a plastic tub, icing filling it to the brim.

"Great minds think alike. Would you like to do the honors?"

Knife in hand, Laura delicately applied the off-white cream to the top of their dark cake, crumbs flecked in the icing as she spread it around. She frowned.

"That's common, unfortunately. I hope you don't place looks over taste," she warned, putting the knife in the sink. "There."

"Looks delightful. Plates, forks, and a spot of tea already in the front room. How's this for a conclusion to a lovely day?"

Indeed, the dessert _was_ quite tasty, Laura inwardly approving and patting herself on the back. Although still slightly warm, it was a very thick cake, something she enjoyed. Despite the taste, however, her mind was a battlefield. Somehow, even in the Professor's company, she felt lonely, as if she had no one to really talk to.

'_It's as if I can't even feel comfortable around him anymore. I get too far in, then I second guess myself. Then I get too far away, and I miss him. I start being 'me' around him, and he gets all tricky, his words most notably hard to decipher…_

_Is this how it is when people get too close, and they shouldn't? Or rather, when they get close, but they just can't, I don't know, can't converge? Ever come together?_'

"I suppose I should be on my way." She sat her dish and utensil on the small tray the empty tea cups were in, making her way to the door. As on Christmas, she wished for some sort of gift, maybe for the heck of it, maybe for Valentine's Day, but knew it was just a fleeting fancy. The way her birthday ended up might have given her reason to expect something more, but…it was just a silly holiday after all. And she was just a silly girl, emotions askew.

'_I really am so stupid, after all._'

The Professor gathered her belongings, handing them over almost reluctantly. Inside, he didn't want the day to end, but he cut the feeling off before it had time to blossom. He'd been getting quite good at doing so, as he had constant practice.

He smiled. "Well, I do thank you for coming over. Hopefully it wasn't a waste, or a lie even."

Pulling on her coat, she let out a feeble laugh. "Um, well, I guess it was more of a twisted truth, rather than a lie. You did say before that you were going to bake for someone special. I have my reservations on how you go about choosing your words as to make loopholes of them, but…well, hopefully you accomplished your goal." Smiling timidly, she caught his gaze in hers.

"I'd say I did, more or less," he chortled, smiling warmly. He turned the handle.

"I have something to tell you." She looked at the floor, building whatever courage she needed to string words together. For some reason, it was slowly becoming difficult as she planned out her sentences.

It was enough to cause his heart to pound. Layton held fast to the doorknob, unsure of whether he wanted to hear what the _something_ was. His intuition ran haywire, but it was sensible enough to feel uneasy.

'_What a frightening way to begin…leaves me wondering if it's good news or bad. I'm quite unsure of what I'd like to hear, honestly…_'

He waited for her to lift her head, her eyes almost wild with some sort of inner turmoil. In an instant, they became calm, a smile pleasantly taut across her lips.

"Unlike you, I would feel silly, were I to play with talking in puzzles and riddles. For that reason alone, I'll just be frank. I mean, well…you might not intend what I _think_ you have been intending all this time, when you give such haphazard hints and such, but…" She sighed, folding her hands as her arms hung loose in front of her. "Professor, regardless of how you take this, I'd just like to be clear, so you know. I really enjoy, well—like? Hmm, no, that's not—okay, well anyway, I really love spending time with you. I look forward to '_review_' every day, and the weekends almost seem like punishment anymore, since I don't have any sensible conversation at home."

She briefly looked into his eyes to ensure he wasn't bored out of his mind, or disgusted in what she was saying. "And, well," she swallowed, looking back at her hands, unable to look at him straight, "I really would like to thank you for letting me do little things with you, here and there, such as today. I don't know 100% what you mean by it, but it kept me up all night in anticipation. I don't really get to do much, so it really does make my life more exciting.

I'm not sure if anyone has told you this, but you're a very nice man. Not just nice in terms of being kind, but…being genuinely concerned with others' affairs. Regardless of whatever academic pursuits and goals you may have in the future, and regardless of where our paths may diverge, I hope you'll remember that you at least gave one of your students some meaningful, intelligent conversation, and that is more than I could have hoped for from going to stupid archaeology cla—"

For a moment, she didn't know if she was pulled by the man in front of her, or pushed by the bookcase at her back, it all happened so fluidly. But she found her face stuffed into some sweet smelling material, and a second's time passed before she realized she was being hugged close, perhaps embraced was a more meaningful term, by the Professor, all physical feeling leaving her limbs. Her arms hung limp at her sides, unsure of whether or not to reciprocate. Her senses revved up again, nerves tingling along her scalp as she felt fingers comb delicately through her hair.

"Archaeology isn't stupid," the Professor whispered, very much near her ear. Laura shivered, his words almost sensual in the way he dictated them. She felt stupid for reacting in such a way and hoped he didn't notice. He let her go, Laura upset it had to end so soon, but only after recovering from the realization of what had just happened.

Before she knew it, she was on the front porch, light spilling from the house and onto the most recent dusting of snow, sprinkled across the porch. The snowy expanse of the lawn, sidewalk, everything seemed daunting, causing her to want to stay a bit longer. She turned back to him, standing calmly in the door way, hands in his pants pockets.

"Thanks again. That was fun," she said languidly, somewhat in a daze, as if she was speaking to the door jam but somehow knew it was ridiculous to talk to inanimate objects.

"Indeed, I'm glad you actually came. I wasn't sure whether or not to expect you. I'm very concerned about you getting home safely. I really think I should walk you home, or at least—"

She held up her hand, gloved palm out. "I'm fine. It's somewhat dark, but the streetlights are bright, no one in their right mind would be out, and my parents expect me back on foot, on my own. I told them I was visiting a friend nearby. I can't have you showing up. They'll think I am using you or something." She rolled her eyes, normal demeanor slowly returning.

"Well, if you insist…" Taking his hands from his pockets, without warning, he cupped her face in his palms and placed his lips to her forehead. He stepped back and laughed as Laura stood lifeless for a second time, gawking at him with glazed over eyes. "I'll be sure to enjoy your tapes. Thank you again. It's a joy hearing you play. I'll see you Monday, then? Are you okay?"

Laura nodded, deadened to anything happening around her. "Yes. I'm fine. Monday. School, that's…yes, I'll see you later, Professor."

She shuffled down the porch steps, meandering the front walk and finally continuing to the main sidewalk. Turning to wave, she pulled her hat about her and cleared the Professor's range of visibility.

Professor Layton shut the door and locked it without a second thought, aimlessly taking to his study, picking around at artifacts and pushing loose books to the back of the shelf. He'd struggled with it, but…the day was done. His deeds were done. Whatever he wanted from the day: it was all done.

He glanced at his briefcase, lying open as he'd left it earlier before Laura came by. A small parcel lay inside it now, a ruby velvet bag tied at the top with a piece of gold ribbon. A small note was at its side, folded over with care.

"Whatever could this be?" He read the card carefully, smiling as he chuckled. "Seems to be a puzzle. Let's see here…

_I'm one of five, that is all, though certainly not the best._

_Much more useful, so it seems, are the four that make up the rest._

_I'm not a necessity most of the time, though useful I can be,_

_When I sense a fire's smoke-ridden wrath, I'm the first to suggest you flee._

_I don't watch movies, or catch a chill,_

_No food for me either, no drinks to spill._

_No music to enjoy, no tune, no chord._

_However, remarkably, I'm never bored._

_I can recall mountain lake and hot summer air,_

_Funnel cake, corn dog, carnival fair._

_New shoes, baked cake, charcoal grill blaze,_

_Cold pine, blizzard snow, labyrinth hay maze._

_Scraped pumpkin, smashed berry, warm morning shower._

_Fresh dirt, tilled earth, new spring flower._

_Minted money, clean laundry, rubber four square ball,_

_Pepper rub, bleached tub, newly painted wall._

_ Nostalgia is my specialty, memories linger like a spell._

_ No time machine required; you can travel there by _._

-_(Dear reader, as trivial as this poem is, if you want to solve it, don't continue, as the answer is going to be revealed within a few lines of reading!)-_

"…by...travel there by…? Oh dear…" He whispered possible rhyming words to himself, shaking his head, as none of them made much sense when inserted into the blank. "Tell, well, sell, fell..." He reread the poem several times before his eyes focused on the first few lines.

'_One of five…not always useful. But, it could help during a fire, supposedly. Perhaps it's a tool of some sort? Yet there're all these items: weather, foods, common everyday objects. I really don't see… Oh!_'

He chuckled, penciling in the missing word. "Oh but of course. It's 'smell'. The five senses. Not always as useful as sight or sound, but…it would prove helpful if one _smelled_ a fire from a safe distance before stumbling upon it with one's sense of sight, wouldn't it? And yes, scent does link with the memory in ways the other senses can not. Very clever…I'm quite certain this is an original."

Untying the bag carefully, a small vial appeared as he looked in the opening, the glass bottle suspended in light paper packing. There was no questioning it was cologne, but with a small note attached to the cap with a thin piece of ribbon.

"Hmm, '_Wear it to review: maybe I'll focus more :)_'. It's from Laura then… Although, it's quite bold for her, I am quite surprised! Ha ha…although…she was a bit more bold this evening, more than usual." His face turned red to match the packaging of his gift.

All of a sudden, he frowned, unable to stand the feeling building up inside him. He left the room as it was, climbing the stairs, entering the bathroom all without his cognizant permission. He switched the light on, looking about without a reason.

It was a realization that was bound to come sooner rather than later, but no matter the timing, it was distressing. He'd noted trends in his feelings, the ups and the downs, the times he had energy and the times he just couldn't do anything, let alone _focus_. Each time there was a shift in feeling, a change in energy, a fluctuation of self, it had to do with this student. And in the matter of a moment, he was able to admit it.

His hands shook. He slumped against the door and felt little pools of tears well up in his eyes when all his thoughts and feelings converged into one painful epiphany: he had fallen hard for a girl ten years his junior. It wasn't a terribly dreadful difference, but…

Sliding to the floor, his stomach lurched even more recalling that she had _just_ turned 18, that any mention of his feelings just weeks ago would have cost him his job immediately. He thought of himself as an 18 year old, when she would have only been around 8 years old.

'_When I think of it that way, it's very strange….very strange indeed…almost disgusting._'

Regardless of whether she was an adult, there were just certain things that a man in his position, of his status, at the schools he was teaching, should be expected _not_ to do, and one near the top of the list would be having romantic inclinations toward a student.

He felt vile, somewhat deranged. He tried telling himself over and over that he was just enjoying the time spent with her because it mimicked legitimate, productive academic discussion, caused him to feel as he did when researching, finding hidden artifacts and digging up their histories, solving puzzles. Wasn't that all? Shouldn't that have been all that it was?

Burying his face into his arms, he leaned against his knees, brought up to his chest. There were other thoughts that kept repeating and running through his mind just as often as his excuses, and even stronger. He constantly wondered what she was doing, thought in advance what the next day's review had in store, and often thought up things to ask her, just to get to know her better. It was what carried him into sleep, and what delivered him out of it again. All things involved Laura, even when she wasn't there in person.

"I'm terrible," he whispered, staring into the corduroy fabric of his pants. "I'm a failure. I've ruined a perfectly acceptable student-teacher relationship, and turned it into something revolting. How…how could I….? I haven't even started as full-time professor yet, and I'm already destroying my future."

He couldn't get the anticipation prior to kissing Laura on the forehead out of his mind. It was exhilarating, if not also dreadfully frightening. He'd had half a mind to aim a bit lower, but completely decided against his carnal voice. Now, this feeling was coupled with guilt, and playing tug of war with them was beginning to stress him out to the point where he wished she could be there, saying something intelligent with the plainest face, as if her ever-present logic should have already struck him as obvious. He heard her voice: "Really? Honestly?"

'_How she's always so emotionless, it really is admirable…unless she's just hiding it very well. I've been a wreck for months…_'

He turned the bottle of cologne around in his hands, gingerly cupping it in the palms. It was a smooth, frosted glass container, the liquid inside barely visible. Squirting a small spray onto his wrist, he breathed it in deeply. It reminded him somehow of pleasant smelling wood, leather, and long winter nights spent warmly under thick blankets and bedding. He smiled, picturing Laura searching for the perfect scent in the department store.

"Something made her like it… It's very lovely, really." He stood, brushing his pants off as he strode to the mirror, removing his hat. Perhaps it was merely a figment of his imagination, but he swore each time he looked at himself, he looked a year older.

'_No wonder that chap at the theatre thought Laura was my daughter…_'

The house felt heavy. The halls seemed to groan alongside him, dim wall lights helping him down the path to his room, but the atmosphere was brooding. No sounds could be heard, leaving him with no distractions, something he desperately wanted at the moment. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands.

"Logically, I don't feel any of this is right, but… I don't know, I just don't know." He laid down, not bothering to turn off the lights. He wasn't certain he'd be able to get himself back up. Everything seemed useless. It was the first time he felt he didn't want to bother with thinking, as if he wanted to just…let logic go.

'_I'm no where further than I was thinking of these things a month ago. It really is complicated, something seemingly so simple, so…supposedly inviting._

_Sorry, Rosa. I can't help but feel lonely on Valentine's. Not that it matters any.'_

Laura walked home, but she didn't recall any of it. She was welcomed with a severe frown from her mother, her father blustering into the foyer just as the front door closed behind her.

"A bit late, returning from a visit to your friend's, isn't it?" he grumbled testily, his face cross. "You know it's bad manners to keep your parents up and worried!"

Laura checked the large clock on the wall. "It's barely 8 o'clock. I didn't think it was _that_ late to return home. We finished up supper, and I helped clean the plates," she said convincingly, knowing it was indeed true. It scared her, how good she was getting at pulling the wool over their eyes. Proud of her wit, she wasn't proud of mincing her own words.

"Be that what it may, but have you any idea about some piano tuner coming over this afternoon?" he said gruffly, tugging his robe closer. "The man said he was told this was the exact address he was given. Apparently already paid in full! Now who would give our address?"

Rushing into the front room, she stood staring at the wall piano. It sat as it always had, heavy, tall, wide: a giant among the room's furniture and show pieces. Her father slid his hand across the top, as if looking at it fondly, but merely snorted. "Piece of junk, this, and someone supposedly has it tuned! Doesn't sound all that bad, but…still. Seems a waste to me."

Laura chanced a scowl and opened the lid to the keys. Everything looked the same. "Who would have… There was no mention of a name?"

"No one. The tuner just came on in here, did his work, left without a word. I didn't want him in at first but…well, I knew the business was credible, but the whole thing was curious. Very strange. I almost thought I had gone mad, hearing him go on about how this was _indeed_ the address. Who am I to tell him wrong? Not my problem if he had the wrong place!" He left the room, catching his wife as a listener to his tirade about how batty everyone was getting.

Laura sat on the bench, running her fingers loosely along the keyboard. She played a few chords, expecting the sound she had grown used to, but…

"It's so…_crisp_. It's not dull, it's…musical! I really don't—_That's what he meant_." She covered her mouth as she stared at the black and white keys, blurring together into wet blobs as tears formed along her eyelids. "That's why he said I'd have to redo the tapes. He knew about this, he set it up. My piano…"

'_Oh, Liam, I know you'd love this. I wish you could hear this in person, but…_

_Somehow, I know you're listening and watching anyway. I'd never replace you, but someone else knows. Someone else cares. They understand. They love what we loved together, you and I.'_

Quietly, paying no heed to whether her parents cared, enjoyed, or were bothered, she started her favorite melody from memory, its music long buried within a casket, but not lost.


	16. CHAPTER 16: ET TU, BRUTE?

**This chapter is rather short, compared with the other ones I've been pumping out. But it's a bit different than usual, if only slightly. I needed a break from the fluffy garbage.**

**Only two more chapters (after this one!) before we rejoin the Professor and Laura in the present time. Then, I'll really have to be careful. I haven't quite gotten all the details sorted out. This stuff is slightly fluffy, but mostly serious. The rest is ALL serious. And we get a bit of Luke in there as well. I need to add another character into the mix. LOLZ.**

**Lame puzzle included. It's a consolation prize for reading my cruddy story.**

**DON'T FORGET TO READ AND REVIEW! I keep getting people adding this to their favorite story lists, BUT THEY NEVER REVIEW! YOU GOTTA. YOU GOTTA DO IT. DOO EEEEEET. D:**

**Anyway.**

**Fus ro dah,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 16: ET TU, BRUTE?**

A dense fog buried the sidewalks and streets of downtown London, the pavement slick with moisture. Professor Layton checked his pocket watch as he hurried up the front steps of one of the many buildings belonging to Gressenheller University. The campus felt dead, all noise canceled out by the condensed clouds, but the air was warm and fresh, a welcome treat in mid-March.

He held his jacket under his arm, briefcase in tow. Several students marched around him, attempting to get to morning class on time. He nodded and smiled warmly to many of his colleagues in passing, quite unwilling to start a conversation. After all, his company was waiting patiently in his office.

His student, Laura, had begun an engineering project that required her morning presence every Tuesday and Thursday for several weeks. As he often had departmental meetings on the same days anyway, he enthusiastically (almost hungrily) offered to take her to and from the University by car, saving her time and money that would have been used on a bus. What ended up additionally taking place were walks about London, visits to tea shops, and Laura taking post-engineering naps in Layton's office while he taught an upper level archaeology course in tandem with another professor.

"Hmm, I didn't know you wear glasses." Layton tossed his jacket purposefully at Laura's head as she lay on the visitor's couch in the middle of the study. He laughed as she shot up, indignant at what was splayed across her face, disturbing her slumber.

"What in blazes?" She coughed, holding the article of clothing out in front of her, observing it. "Oh, you're back."

"Since when do you wear glasses?" he questioned with interest.

"Since I needed them back in high school," she informed him. "I try to get by without them but sometimes…I just need them."

"I see." He stared at her momentarily, looking away quickly with reddened cheeks. "They're quite…fitting, somehow."

"Fitting."

"Hmm, yes, quite."

Laura gathered her things and pulled on her jacket. "Is it still foggy?"

"Thick as pea soup," said the Professor, grabbing his car keys. "I see Rosa came by. I haven't seen her since she left for holiday."

"No, _I_ cleaned your slob office. I wouldn't be surprised if I had to be put in hospital, what with the amount of dust hanging about. I was sure I'd go into some sort of fatal allergic reaction."

Layton pulled down on the brim of his hat, embarrassed. "Well, no one told you to go do a favor like that… Anyway, changing the subject—"

"Typical…"

"—I thought we could just take a little walk down to this quaint little place that just opened not too long ago. Overlooks the Thames."

Laura shrugged, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. "Okay."

The Professor sat back in his seat once they were seated at the small shop, quite traditional with the outdoor façade, but very modern and contemporary inside. He glanced often out the window, watching gulls circle the banks of the river and finally settle on the outdoor deck of the café, trying to peck inside the wet trashcan.

"Funny animals, aren't they." He took a long sip from his steaming mug. "Ah, the cup that cheers. A nice tea, this one."

Laura grimaced as she peered into her own cup, barely having took a gulp of the stuff. "This leaves…much to be desired."

He laughed. "Seems our palates aren't quite the same, are they?"

"Perhaps not. Sorry I wasted it." She snorted after he finished his cup and began on hers. "You know, I drank off of that."

Shrugging, he sat the empty mug down. "It's not as if we are unfamiliar with each other. It's not uncommon for those close with one another to share items that are typically off limits otherwise. But then again, you're a germophobe."

"Oh yes, fodder for your sharp, witty amusements," she scoffed at her chuckling professor. "So, what's on your agenda for today? Something boring in archaeology, no doubt."

Professor Layton paid at the counter and walked out. "Archaeology is not boring. We're focusing on Rome again. You know, I did a bit of research for fun…"

"For fun, even!"

"_And_ your name is derived from the Latin word for the laurel tree, _laurea_. Did you know that?"

She smiled. "Although working with histories and the past bores me to no end, etymology is something I'm quite fond of. Yes, I did know that. I'm glad my parents chose the spelling that they did for my name, since it most closely mimics the Latin root."

"Hmm, yes. I must admit, I soon dropped the 'Miss' when I addressed you, as I thought it took away from your name as it stands alone. It's quite pretty."

They were soon in his car and off to Grissom's, weaving in and out of afternoon traffic. Laura leaned against the car door, gazing out the window. She was stuck on a thought.

"Why are you allowed to drop the 'Miss' at your will, even though it's only proper to address me as young ladies _should_ be addressed? You feel that close to do so?"

He pulled into the parking lot, laughing heartily as he got out and collected his materials. "You know, I meant to tell you before, I wouldn't mind it if you called me by my first name, as my colleagues do."

"I'm not your colleague!" she blurted out, aghast.

"You might as well be, the amount of time we spend together, and with your aptitude!" He walked briskly to his office. Laura noticed he quickened his pace or expelled nervous energy at a greater rate when he was anxious or embarrassed. She followed him, closing the door behind them.

"So you want me to call you 'Hershel'? When not around others, of course. I don't know if I can get used to that. You're my professor, after all."

He didn't know why, but he felt a surge of warmth, a difference of pressure in his head as she said his name. It was as if subconsciously, another barrier was torn down. His house was no longer foreign to her, their addressing of each other was on the same plane, minds on the same wavelength. She was like an old friend that he slowly was rediscovering again, familiar things from before lost, now being found once more. He didn't know if it was more calming, or invigorating; he felt it could go either way.

Sitting down at his desk, he removed his hat, combing his fingers through his hair. "It's really your choice, but I personally would rather you address me as an equal. 'Hershel' is fine."

"But it's such a grand name! And then there's simple 'Laura,' so boring! Really, we're not equals, so I think maybe 'Miss' Laura is better after all…"

"How about 'Laurie'?"

She paused, thinking about it. It rang nicely, and he seemed to have a sense of pride as he said it somehow, having chosen a name for her. It was weird, she thought, but it was almost endearing, the way he asked, smiling.

"That's…a nice nickname. If you want to, I don't mind."

"That's settled then. Such a long discussion about something I should have called you from day one." He rose to pull a book from his shelf. "I almost slipped a few times. It seemed to just want to roll off my tongue, strange as it was. It fits you."

She blushed, wondering why he didn't use it before. Glancing at a clock on the wall, she sighed. "Well, I have some business to attend to, so I'll be off then."

"See you soon."

She glanced over as she had her hand on the door. "Professor?" He looked up, a cock-eyed smile on his face.

"You mean 'Hershel'?"

Scowling, she wrenched the door open, face screwed up in a weak sort of anger. "Well! It's much too—well, it's much too cute to say, I just can't do it! What an annoying name to have, really…'Hershel'!"

Laura left him to whatever laugh or snorting he did when she reacted in such a way, not caring about what he thought.

'_Why does he go and do that? First name, really! We're not equals, honestly! What a confusing man…_'

Her eyes widened as she collided with a tall object. She backed up hastily, taken aback that her head didn't hurt after walking straight into something. She soon realized she'd bumped into a person.

"I'm very…sorry…"

A tall and stiff man, perhaps a bit older than 20, looked at her crossly and continued on down the hall, going about the path she'd just came from. His black suit coat shimmered slightly against the bright hallway lights before turning a corner, out of sight.

Laura furrowed her brow. He hadn't even so much as stopped to discern whatever it was that he'd run into. Or, rather, what ran into _him_. It was as if his resolution was unshakable.

'_Strange… And why was a man that young walking about? He looked like he'd belong at Gressenheller. Nice shoes and a fancy suit like that! It's almost as if I've seen him before, from somewhere… But I don't have a name to put to the face. I'll bring it up to the Professor—I mean, Hershel—later…Oh 'Hershel' indeed!_'

As she walked into the suite that contained the main faculty and staff offices, she caught a glimpse of the Headmaster's door, noticing that it was ajar. The office itself was dark. She stopped.

"That's a bit odd. I wonder if he meant to close it, but it didn't quite catch…" She looked around, wondering if he'd stumble onto the scene so that she could tell him. No one was around. "Strange."

Taking a couple of steps forward, she peered through the dark crack between door and frame, trying to see if anything or anyone was visible. She knocked a couple of times, first quietly, then louder.

"Headmaster? Headmaster Ginlade? Are you in there? It's Laura Haris." She held her breath, waiting for a response. Nothing. Her heart even seemed to stop, waiting for a reply of some sort.

After a quick glance around her, she slowly opened the door until her head could fit through. A sense of guilt pelted within her brain, just behind the eyes as she squinted into the room. "It's pitch black in here, it's as if there's no window in the place." She widened the space further, stepping into the office entirely. It was definitely larger than Professor Layton's, but a lot darker, given the opaque, drawn window coverings. She walked closer to the desk, using the light from the hallway as a weak guide. Then she stopped.

Laura choked, breath and voice caught and failed in her throat. Her brain spun wildly, trying to process the scene that lay before her. In the matter of a few seconds, her mind was already trying to make up scenarios to free the current circumstances from the truth, trying to wrap itself around the facts without committing to them. Her sense of logic was too strong, the reeling fantasies of denial dissipating as quickly as they formed.

The Headmaster lay halfway on the floor, halfway into a low shelf of the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, the shelf's contents spread across the office floor in front of him. His body was stiff, lifeless. A pool of dark, sticky-looking blood was noticeable on the floor beneath him, fed from several half-dried tributaries that had their source from open puncture wounds in his chest, lacerations across his face. His jaw was slack, hanging loose to one side as if broken, a dark froth caked about his lips. What was visible of his eyes was a dull glare, courtesy of the light in the hallway. They were blank, staring at her but seeing nothing. Even if not for the wounds and obvious traits of blunt trauma, it still would have been obvious by his eyes alone that he was dead.

She didn't even know that she'd screamed. Her brain was completely on autopilot. Her hands covered her ears instead of her eyes, almost as if deafening her sense of hearing would silence the endless sounds and thoughts going through her head.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh dear God, why, why? Someone, please… Oh God, please…" She backed up slowly into the door frame, bumping into someone again, yet it was a softer blow this time. She looked up wildly, top-hatless Layton looking down at her, almost as if he already feared for the worst.

"Laura, someone down the hall said they heard a scream. What on earth is going on? What's happened?"

"Oh God, Professor, it's—it's the Headmaster, he's—!" She slumped messily to the floor, pointing shakily in the direction of the dead body. "He's dead, he's been murdered! Right here, right in this school, he's—"

Professor Layton met her at floor level, sitting on his heels. He held onto her carefully, hands on her shoulders. "Oh my word, Morris… Who in the world…?" He was stirred from the typical stage of hypothesizing as his student shuddered, shaken by uncontrollable sobs.

"P-Professor, what do we do? He's…he's just been…_ruined_ like this! It's so shameful, it's horrible, vile! I don't know what to do…" She allowed herself to be pulled backward into a firm embrace despite the nausea flip-flopping in her stomach. She didn't know if it was the state the Headmaster's body was in, or the fact he was now a spiritless corpse, a stark contrast to the dancing man at the conference just months ago.

"Laura, shh, it's okay, we aren't going to do anything. _You_ aren't going to do anything. I need to inform the police quickly. For now, we need to return to my office, quickly now." He wiped her eyes on the back of his shirt sleeve, brushing loose hairs from her face. "Try to look as natural as possible. I don't want to make a scene of this…"

He directed her hastily to his office, shutting the door in a hurry. Laura sat in her typical chair, not hearing the phone dial, the report to the police, the brief information given over the line. The Professor finally hung up, walking quickly over to Laura's chair. "Laura, I need you to give me all of the information that you can recall. I believe it will all be imperative to this case."

She looked up, eyes red from silent crying. "What's going to happen? Are the police coming? What if they want to question us? What if they think_ we_ did something? My fingerprints, they're on that door handle, I—I don't think I want to be interrogated right now…"

Layton bent down and grasped the arms of the chair she was in, shaking it slightly. He gave her a serious look. "Laura, listen, you need to calm yourself. I need you to tell me any details you can recall clearly. It's absolutely critical that you do so."

She swallowed hard, ending in a sharp gasp. "As soon as I left your office, I went to the head faculty office suite. I had a paper to give to Professor Warvel for English Composition, and as I walked by the Headmaster's door, I noticed it was open a bit, as if the door didn't quite catch when pulled shut. But, the light wasn't on, and it was pitch black. So I knocked, stated my presence, and opened the door slowly when I didn't hear a reply. That's when I found him there all…well, all stabbed up like."

His eyes were boring holes into hers, but he wasn't looking at her. His mind was elsewhere, aflame, trying to make any sense of it all. He sighed, his lips in a slanted frown. "I need more information."

"Professor, maybe you should just leave it to—"

Sirens wailed vaguely from somewhere outside the building, becoming louder as they drew nearer. They stopped, and the Professor and Laura waited. Any minute, someone would knock at the Professor's door. Suddenly Layton rose back to his full height, striding quickly to the door.

"I'm going to go talk with them. You stay here. I'll come get you if we need you." He slammed the door behind him, leaving Laura to herself. She removed her shoes and pulled her legs up to her chest. It was shocking, she decided, being the first to come across a murder scene, discovering something so grisly without expecting it. She supposed it wasn't often that things like this happened at college campuses, much less to their headmasters.

'_Who would have wanted Headmaster Ginlade dead? It doesn't add up. He's one of the most respected and jolly scholars this side of the Thames, and now he's gone. Sliced up, bloodied. Perhaps even poisoned. That stuff around his mouth alluded to that. Oh, his poor wife, I'd hate to be the one to tell her._'

The door opened again suddenly, a group of uptight and stuffy officers fighting their way through the door way, Professor Layton following behind. A barrel-chested, gruff looking man stepped forward towards Laura, puffing his chest out proudly. If it weren't for the circumstances, Laura would have found it difficult to contain her laughter, as his chest hair protruded from his shirt like a patch of thick moss. The man cleared his throat.

"Laura Haris? Inspector Grosky, Scotland Yard. Your professor here tells me that you stumbled upon this unfortunate, frightful scene. Anyone less might have been driven to madness, puddles of tears, perhaps puddles of something else! For your bravery, I commend you." He shook her hand, almost comically. "Now then, I need you to relay to me the exact steps you took, the exact things you saw, up to the point of discovering the body. Quickly now, I want to catch the murderer posthaste! I'm sure he's still hanging about! But don't forget anything pertinent!"

Laura paused, making sure the inspector was even listening to her as he flexed his biceps continuously. She glanced sideways at the Professor, who rubbed his forehead tiredly.

'_Is this inspector guy for real?_'

She reiterated everything, detail for detail, as best as she could. Her brain was starting to hurt, recalling the scene again and again, trying to remember any details that she might have forgotten.

"I tried the door knob as I walked in. It was unlocked. I thought maybe the Headmaster had went to shut the door and it didn't catch, which would make sense why it was open, but…it was unlocked after all. That's all that I found strange, then…I saw what was inside."

Inspector Grosky snapped his fingers, doing some sort of strange victory dance as he flexed and leaned on his thighs. "That's it! A murder! Did you boys copy her story down? A recording? Great, excellent. Miss Haris, I apologize for your fateful placement in today's events, but thank you heartily for being such a willing witness. You have helped make England that much more safe. And now! To scout the area! Come, men!"

Without so much as a second thought, the disheveled, motley crew exited, Grosky's loud calls sounding off the floors and walls as he promenaded down the hall. Laura sighed.

"That was…different."

Layton rubbed his eyes, replacing his hat on his head. "Quite. Inspector Grosky's quite fond of…emplying a forceful style of detective work. As for me, I'm quite ready to leave for today. Class is canceled, needless to say. The students were placed on lockdown but are slowly being escorted home safely."

Laura frowned. "What about the Headmaster? Have they removed him yet? What about his wife?"

With a groan, the Professor sat in the chair next to her. "Forensics is still in the office, taking down every detail they can manage to find. Mrs. Ginlade… I don't know who is going to inform her. Poor girl, I do feel awful about it all. It's strange, the Headmaster was so busy, so distant as of late. I hadn't so much as spoken with him, even in passing, in the past month."

'_Passing…oh!_'

Laura jumped up from her seat, startling her teacher. "Professor, I just remembered something!"

He looked at her in earnest. "What is it?"

"When I left your office, I bumped into somebody, a tall young man, a bit older than me maybe. He barely even looked at me and kept walking, down past your office door, towards the entrance of the building."

Layton stood up, anticipating more information. "Was he coming from the area of the Headmaster's office?"

"He _could_ have been, but he could have also been coming from the main hallway. He was wearing a black suit coat and khaki pants."

"Anything else to distinguish him by?"

Laura thought hard. "Not really. His nose was a tad pointed, but not birdlike, and his eyes were a bit harsh looking, but not sinister. He wasn't carrying anything, which I thought was odd. It was as if he didn't belong, like he _shouldn't_ have been here." Gulping, she rubbed her hands together. "You don't think that he could have been the…killer, do you?"

"It very well could have been, but then again, it may have just been any regular visitor, or a Gressenheller student. I have my reservations on coming to conclusions without more information but… I may have a name for our mystery man." Laura made to ask who he suspected, but he raced to the door. "I'll be back. I need to inform the Inspector about these new details. Was there anything else? Rattle your brain!"

She shook her head. "No—thing," she whispered as the door slammed without letting her finish. "Wow, I hope I didn't just ruin things. I'm really out of it…"

'_But I suppose it isn't every day that one comes across these things…no. I don't think I handled it as poorly as I could have. Some might have really been affected in a bad way. I just…need some rest. Poor Headmaster. I hope he wasn't in a lot of pain, or fear. What a hopeless situation, to be faced with a killer. I wonder if he even had a chance. How dreadful!_'

It was several minutes before the Professor returned, this time with a warm smile, for which Laura was grateful. "Ready to go? We've been cleared to leave."

She slowly grabbed her bag, walking to the door sluggishly. "I really can't believe all of this. I'm at a loss for words…"

"It really has been a tough day, and one that we'll never forget. But, as Inspector Grosky said, I'm thankful that you handled it so well. It's good you regained your composure. They needed those minute details leading up to your discovery." His expression changed to sadness, his eyes dour. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, and I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this. You _must_ let me know if you find yourself mentally struggling in any way. Sometimes people need to talk it out with a counselor to free themselves of dreadful nightmares or the like. It really was…quite gruesome and horrific. I apologize."

"I'm used to bad luck. It's not my first dead body. I discovered my brother having passed as well, in his bed during the night. It just wasn't as…gory." She reached towards the door as he grabbed his belongings. "Um, I hate to ask, but would you mind giving me a ride? I'm not up to making the walk back today."

"But of course! I intended to drive you even if you didn't ask."

They walked through the dark and quiet halls, an eerie feeling filling the vacuum of silence. It was as if the place wasn't an area of learning anymore, rather, a permanent crime scene. Laura shivered as she pictured the Headmaster stabbed, stabbed, stabbed again, falling to the shelf, scrambling to breathe, begging to live, left to die. She remained silent, even into the car.

"What are you thinking about, Laura?" Layton asked quietly, driving the car onto the main road.

"I never specified where I needed a ride to."

"Indeed, I wondered if you had picked up on that. Name your destination."

She scratched her head, running her fingers through her hair. "I'm not feeling up to going home just yet. Could we go somewhere else? I don't feel very good."

The Professor took an early turn down his own street, parking the car outside his garage. "How's this?"

Inside, Laura stared blankly at the steaming cup set in front of her.

"I know you don't like hot tea, but this will calm your nerves. I can tell something's bothering you." Professor Layton sat down directly opposite his student at the small table in the living room. "Even after all that's…transpired, you still won't confide in me?"

She shook her head. "It's not that, it's just…I feel silly, telling what I'm thinking. And my feelings, those are so fleeting, it's stupid to talk about them. Really, it is." Folding her hands in her lap, she looked at them, trying not to fall into sobbing. She didn't know why, but the images of the office, the body, the possible conclusions to be drawn all continued to race circles in her head. Typically, she would shut off her brain and just psyche herself out, but she felt unable to do much more than breath. Her eyes felt tired.

Layton got up and sat down next to her, craning his body to look up into her downcast face. "Laura, it's not stupid to talk about such things. You really musn't bottle your emotions up like this. If you're in some sort of rut, I'd like to know."

Laura snorted. "Busybody."

"No, _some_body. I'm a 'somebody' who wants to help you, so you should value that more."

Sullenness notwithstanding, she grinned shyly. "Okay, fine. I keep picturing how the whole incident ensued. The pain, the agony. Headmaster Ginlade's office keeps popping into my thoughts. I just…I hope soon, it will go away. It's still fresh, so maybe that's why it's so bad, but…I really need a release. I don't want to think of it any more. I don't see how _anyone_ can commit a crime like that. So, so calculated!" Her grin turned into a scowl, eyes glaring as if at the murderer unknown, blood boiling in hidden veins. "It had to have been planned. It makes me so mad, I could just, just! Hurt someone! It's just—"

Without any warning, the Professor stood and ruffled the hair on the top of her head, laughing as he walked towards the kitchen. Laura turned in her seat, thoroughly confused. "What in the—what was that about?"

"You're full of surprises. One moment, you're about in tears, and the next? You sound like a contestant in a boxing ring!" He returned with a pitcher of dark liquid, pouring her a cup full. "I made some tea the other day. I've been keeping it in the refrigerator in case you came by." Handing it to her, he bent down and kissed her forehead, Laura staring up at him cross-eyed.

"Why do you keep doing that? It's not really—"

"Why do you always ask questions?" he asked rhetorically, smiling at her fondly. "Would you rather I stop?"

She sat silent, glowering at him over the rim of her cup. "I don't know."

"I think you do. Anyway, I should get you back home."

It was funny, how quickly time went by. One minute she was anxious to leave the campus, visit the Professor's house again. The next, she was on her way home. The events of the day were definitely atypical.

'_I guess I never really know what to expect in a day, even with a boring simple life like mine!_'

She sat quietly as they drove down her street, stopping in front of her house.

"Well, here you are, my dear. Safe and sound." He turned toward her, his usual smile stretched across his lips. "Oh, by the way, I have your daily puzzle for you. I'll just give it to you now, as our usual schedule has been altered significantly."

Laura gasped sharply. "I totally forgot mine in your office at Gressenheller. I had it on the coffee table, and was going to give it to you then, but I fell asleep…"

"That's fine, I'm going there after this, but here's yours. Your only hint is that it's slightly similar to the one I gave you on the first day of class."

"Hints before I even try to solve it?" she scoffed. "Do you think I'm hopeless?"

"Nonsense, but I remembered how nicely you solved that one, and wondered if you'd like this one just the same:

_You're expecting a package, and it has to be signed for before it will be relinquished by the postman. Its delivery time is 4:30 PM, but you work until 5:00 PM, and won't be home until 5:15 PM every Monday – Friday. Every day you fail to sign, the postman just brings it the next day to try again._

_It's finally the last day of the weekend, and you are home from work, ready to sign. When can you expect your package to arrive and finally be signed for?_"

_-Dearest readers, don't proceed until you've solved it yourself!-_

Laura sat quietly, gazing at the radio button under the clock display. Then she chuckled. "Ah, you think you're clever with all those words! It's all needless information. The package will never be delivered that day, as the '_last day of the weekend_' is Sunday. There's no post on Sundays!"

Professor Layton laughed, rather amused. "Indeed. It was quite simple, wasn't it. And the package won't ever be delivered it seems, unless you take the day off. Well, there's no class tomorrow, it should go without saying. I suppose I'll see you and your puzzles again when classes resume on Monday."

Laura looked at him accusingly. "Monday? You'll last that long?"

Layton coughed, cheeks turning red as he tried to offer a rebuttal. "Well, I—Now see here, whatever do you mean by _that_?"

"And how about that cough just now? It answers my question enough."

Brow furrowed, he sighed. "One minute, you're quiet as a mouse, the next you're counteracting me with uncomfortable questions! I—now what is so funny?"

She laughed unsympathetically. "That's how it feels to be flustered and bothered by a million puzzles. Now you know what I had to deal with, what with your obscure comments and questioning. I'm just blunt, is all."

"Your style is abrasive and very unforgiving," he mumbled, realizing he'd been trounced and conquered. "But I suppose it's only fair…"

"I'll take that as an answer too." She unclipped her belt and leaned towards him, subconscious directing her, leaving a quick peck to his cheek. "Monday? Oi, Monday, Professor? Oops, I mean Hershel?" She stepped out of the car.

Layton's face turned a dark crimson, hat pulled almost entirely over his eyes. "Well, I suppose if you won't be busy, I could always…well, you know, I'm always doing something, always busy, but if I get the time…"

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow."

Feeling giddy and slightly stupid, she ran up to the front door and disappeared behind it, admonishing herself for being so girly.

'_Oh, I'm such a card!'_

END.

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LOLZ. NOW YOU GO REVIEW.


	17. CHAPTER 17: MERCURY RISING

**Oh, dearest me. This chapter is probably the last of the "fun" kind. The rest are all buildup to a downfall. WILL THERE BE MORE DEATH? Oh yes, there will be, but not just yet. We're going to return to the present day after ONE more chapter, and then a mini one. More of an interlude, with no real purpose. You'll see.**

**Anyway, the puzzle in this chapter is NOT my own, but is from a set of visual puzzle cards that I got as a kid. I have tons of puzzles, puzzle cards, logic puzzles, number puzzles, etc. but ones like the one in this story are one of my favorite types, as the answer is so OBVIOUS, but you may not see it right off the bat unless you've solved one like it before. Hopefully you'll enjoy it… It involves one of my favorite things. :]**

**I actually illustrated a scene from this story. It's terrible, mind you. I drew it before I even knew what I wanted Laura to look like, and before I even envisioned this chapter! So, this chapter was inspired by a drawing. HAHA. It was drawn even before I had a grip on this story, and just was in the beginning of it all, thinking, "I'M SENDING THE PROFESSOR TO THE BEACH WITH ONE OF HIS STUDENTS." It's a bit more humorous than this chapter was, but…if you want to take a look….Go here, but remove the spaces: **

**008kenichijouji . deviantart . com/gallery/9048950#/d32epzc**

**Memorizing the Latin dictionary,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 17: MERCURY RISING**

The death of Headmaster Ginlade inspired rumors to the most fantastical degree, tearing through the city at breakneck speed, like a falcon on the hunt. With no leads and little information to go on, the police hit a standstill, stating the case was a homicide, but with no suspects to speak of. The entire situation was tricky, and people had taken more to comforting Mrs. Ginlade rather than trying to solve the most infamous murder case the college campus had ever experienced.

Laura decided early on that funerals were not her thing. Not after her brother's. But the idea of paying last respects was something that she held to, and accompanied Professor Layton to the service. It drew in several thousand people, as the Headmaster was well-known and well-liked. She hoped going to the funeral would help nip her visions and bizarre dreams in the bud, to little avail.

But life went on, started up again as usual, regardless of whether the case had been solved. Another headmaster was instated, at least temporarily, and classes resumed as if nothing had ever happened.

A steady flow of students ambled down the hallway to the faculty offices at Gressenheller. Nothing particularly amiss, as it was a weekday, yet the clambering crowd outside Professor Layton's door was a bit uncanny, if not creepy. Perhaps it was because all of them were female. Laura rolled her eyes noiselessly, sitting outside on one of the many benches that lined the walls.

'_Apparently, he has a fanbase…_'

The Professor must have called from within, because in an instant the group of girls threw open the door and smashed through the frame, each frantically trying to get his attention first. Laura nonchalantly lent an ear to the whoops and congratulatory words thrown about.

"We're so excited, Professor! Congratulations on your promotion!"

"It's such a giant step in your career!"

"You'll let us know when your class schedule is out, won't you?"

"We need to sign up for your advanced level archaeology courses!"

Without actually visually witnessing the scene, Laura envisioned a perfumed set of ravenous, done-up beasts, all foaming at the mouth, crazed and obsessed, circling the poor man at his desk, all vying for a fraction of conversation with him. Fictional fantasies aside, the reality was scary enough

Layton coughed, continuing into a chuckle. "Ladies, I thank you kindly for your thoughts and well-wishes, but I have a meeting that I must attend soon. I'll have to ask you to continue on to your classes. I'm sure half of you are already late to your respective courses…"

Many nodded, others frowned. "But—!"

"Ah ah ah, no buts. I'll be available after 9 AM tomorrow morning if any of you need assistance with that ancient runes research I started you all off on."

Laura watched them all leave, heads downcast. The Professor stood in the doorway, hand to his mouth. "And don't forget to bring your guidebooks to class tomorrow! Many forgot last time. Ah, Laura, fancy seeing you here."

"Oh 'fancy', indeed. I come every morning," she said with a wry smile, following him into the study. "A bit of freak weather, don't you think?"

"Being April, and having summer temperatures? I think so. Quite sunny, awfully pleasant. I sacrificed keeping my papers orderly and opened a window. Unfortunately, the breeze keeps blowing my things around, but…"

"You aren't clean anyway," she giggled, looking about the room, pointing piles of clutter out as examples for her case. "Exhibit A?"

He shook his head, sighing. "Do you always have to…never mind. With such irresistible weather, I've planned out a little holiday for us."

"A…holiday?" she asked uncertainly.

"Perhaps, more of a day trip. I thought we could head to the ocean for the day."

She shook her head. "But you have class, _we_ have class—"

"Already canceled it."

"You can't just go around cancelling like that! You need to have utmost dedication to your students and your courses. If you want to be full-time professor, you have to _act_ like it!"

He laughed, already set on his plans as he put textbooks away neatly on the shelf, which was uncustomary, Laura noticed. "So harsh! I do act like it! Or else I wouldn't have gotten the job. But I can also reserve time for myself. It's fine, the material was basic review for today anyway. Now then, we'll need a change of clothes, so I'll swing by your house for you to get something, and also something for lunch, so how about we head to the grocery and see if we can't find something to prepare."

With the weather briefly transforming the day into spring, Laura was in high spirits, carried by the breeze and the change in atmosphere. It whispered relaxation and enjoyment, warm wind blowing through the open car windows, a basket of sandwiches in the back. It would have been morally wrong to not laugh, make jokes, poke fun, smile. A day of salt water and sea zephyrs was a cure for either of their doubts, worries, cares. All was right in the world.

"Really, Hershel, take off that bloomin' hat. The wind will blow it off if you don't do it yourself!"

Layton took a large bite of a sandwich, using his slow chewing as a buffer to continuing the conversation. He shook his head.

"Eating your food isn't going to deter my thoughts. It's silly! Just remove it."

"It's like an appendage at this point," he muttered through a cough, swallowing a considerably thick piece of bread. "It's fine."

Laura directed a harsh glare in his direction, stuffing bits of corned beef into her mouth. "What, you think it completes your gentlemanly wardrobe? Honestly, Hershel, I bet you're just ashamed of your haircut."

"I say! There's nothing wrong with my hair!" He selfconsciously lifted his hat and smoothed his flattened hair, looking up as if he could actually see what it looked like.

"Then why do you sound so offended?" She gave a triumphant smile as he finished his sandwich, huffing to himself.

"I'm putting the supplies back in the car…"

The shoreline was craggy in some places, large jagged rocks and boulders taking the brunt of the waves as they sat heavily along the coast. Laura picked her way carefully across them, hopping from one gray slab to another. The Professor, not too keen on flirting with the possibility of slipping and cracking his skull open, hung behind by several leaps and gaps in the rocks.

"Come now, Hershel, it's really fun!"

"Laurie, I really don't think it's very safe, I really—whoa! Watch your step!—I really think you should stick to walking in the sand…" He yelled out as she took a particularly daring bound. "Now, see here, if you don't quit that nonsense—"

She looked at him crossly, lips in a frown. "Are you my father, or my professor?" He caught up with her, breathing heavily, hands on his knees.

"Right now, I just want you protected and safe, but with that sort of play, it's not going to end well!" He rested a hand on her back, nudging her towards the sand. "Walk along the water, on the sand. It's safer."

"Not my father," she sung out, crossing her arms snugly across her chest, but following his direction. "You're just being a killjoy."

"If it keeps you whole of mind and body, then so be it."

She smirked. "Well, if you don't want your fun 'on the rocks', then we'll have to try something different." She took several quick steps forward, turning halfway to catch his scowl. "Try to keep up!"

"That was a terrible pun, and this is awfully childish—hey, honestly?"

Mind transcended, Laura bolted along the water, waves lapping hungrily at the sand. Her feet tore fresh pits into the coast, creating little whirling puddles where the tide overtook them. The sun was warm, the water cool, and there was something about the place, the energy maybe, that made her feel as if she could do anything, anything at all, and get away with it. Whether her muscles were used to it or not, she sped down the coast, her thoughts dead set on absorbing everything the day had to offer, sans worries.

"Oi, Hershel! You're quite the fatty, taking so long!" She waved mockingly at her professor, breathing heavily up the small sand dune she was standing on. "It barely had any slope!"

"You do realize….that I'm 10 years older than you….and I'm not used to this…._at all_," he grumbled, cough and puffing between bits of his sentences.

"Maybe it's good for you then. You really should get out more, and not sit in that stuffy little office of yours. You're going to start putting on weight. You're going on 30, you know," Laura said sharply, wagging a warning finger at him. "Your metabolism is something you need to keep up. No one likes a pudge."

Layton glowered at her, finally catching his breath. "A _pudge_." He sucked his teeth and looked out at the Atlantic, vast and seemingly endless. "Ever been to America, Laurie?"

"I can't say I have. Why?"

"Just asking. I'd quite like to visit for real someday. May have a bit of culture shock, but…" He laughed, tipping his head to scratch his head. "I went to New York once to an archaeological dig, but ended up doing nothing more than getting mixed info in a hotel conference room. Rather disappointing. But the view: it was something else. Quite magnificent, if I do say so myself."

"Sounds lovely," she said with a warm smile, sun leaving red and gold streaks in her hair. Layton returned the grin, sighing.

"Well, I don't know what it is, but the weather has brought out something different in you. Something…youthful. Vim, vigor, and verve, if you will. Although that jaunt just about killed me, I must say your energy is catching."

She put her hands on her hips, a harsh glare in tow. "Well good! Because I won't have my time wasted by a lazy brute!" she exclaimed, transitioning into a laugh.

"What say we get some ice cream? There's a little village nearby that they shuttle beachgoers to throughout the day, full of shops and treats. It's really very quaint, very enjoyable. Shall we go see if transportation is running today?"

"Absolutely!"

Luck on their side, they boarded a mini-omnibus, packed shoulder to shoulder with beach visitors, ready for something new after burning in the sun all afternoon. Layton managed to land two seats when a particularly portly man left the bus after feeling it was "_much too cramped for people of average size, this thing!_," sending both professor and student into a fit of silent laughter—to which Professor Layton promptly corrected, "_Now, Laura, you know that's not very ladylike…" ("_You giggled too, hypocrite!" she whispered acidly).

The bus drowsily drove along the coast, swaying and swerving to the curvy road. Laura felt her eyes getting heavy when they finally stopped.

"Village of Mare Avenae, bus comes back around in 45 minutes!"

Taking the Professor's hand, Laura stepped down from the vehicle. "What a pretty little village!"

"I told you it was a lovely place. I used to come here in my younger days. Hopefully they still—oh they _do!_" He pulled her briskly to a little ice cream shop with a large glass window. There was barely any standing room inside, it was so full of people. "I absolutely love this place. Now, don't get the wrong idea—"

"What the weather has brought out in _me_, this kiddy place has brought out in _you_," Laura said, leering. "I don't want to hear another word about me being '_childish_'…"

Defeated again, Layton sighed. "Fair enough. But this is nostalgic!"

They waited patiently in the long line, children and adults alike leaving with wide toothy grins and colored tongues as they each licked happily at their cones. The Professor ordered a large sundae with every topping imaginable, much to Laura's surprise, while she only requested a small cookies and cream frozen yogurt.

"I really….can't believe you just ordered that." Laura watched him take to his dessert like a child at Christmas. "I can't believe you've gone so loony over _ice cream_?"

He smiled, a trace of melted vanilla at the corners of his mouth. "You really, couldn't possibly understand. Coming here as a child was like a vacation. It's a very fond memory now, and I get to relive it. It's rather exciting, wouldn't you say?"

She looked carefully into her own treat, somehow contemplative, despite the Professor's obvious joy. "I really don't know what you mean. I don't look back on my childhood fondly, and what little that I _did_ consider enjoyable, is gone. I never get to relive it. But," she added, not wanting him to fret over her, "I'm glad you get to have your fun again."

"Mostly…I'm just tickled that you get to share in it, even if you don't quite feel the same about it as me." He spooned around his bowl, trying to catch the dregs on the lip of his utensil.

"Wouldn't you rather I feel the same, rather than just share as a sort of bystander? I wish you felt the same about some of the things I find enjoyable…"

Tossing the Styrofoam container into a bin, Layton chuckled. "Well, I mostly am just satiated for now. Some day, I think we'd come to enjoy what the other does. Don't you think?"

"Hmm, maybe… I don't see you playing the piano fondly anytime soon."

"I just don't practice enough, is all!" He picked up her trash, throwing it away, then taking her by the hand. "Let's go look around a bit before the bus comes back."

They walked lazily through the small town, their shoes clacking against the cobblestone. It wasn't long before Laura found a souvenir for herself. She began trying on hats at a little corner store, its doors open wide to let the warm air flow through.

"Oh, I do enjoy hats, even though I'm not one for being fashionable," she said, trying on a white sunhat. "Such a wide brim, it'd be nice to garden in. Should my parents ever allow me to garden… Oh, there you are, Hershel. Could I borrow some money off of you? I'll pay you back when I get home. I wasn't expecting to come out here today, after all."

The Professor paid, laughing at how ecstatic his student seemed to be over a simple accessory. "You don't have to worry about paying me back. Spending the day with me is payment in full."

"But I must, that's not really fair!"

"Seeing you happy clears your debt. That's all you need to do. Be happy."

She grinned wide, glancing up at the brim of the hat almost pridefully. "It's really nice. Thank you."

Laura removed her hat as they all crammed into the bus once more for a final time, sardines being shuttled back to the coast. Stomach full, the warm breeze wafting through the bus, she felt her eyes finally giving way, her head hanging down until she'd sense herself dropping off, when she'd wake herself up unceremoniously. She laid her head against the Professor's shoulder without another thought.

He glanced to his side, face red. Surely, others would blame the heat. Sighing, he smiled.

'_I suppose there's nothing really awkward about it at all. No one here knows us from Adam anyhow…_'

"Laurie. Laurie dear, we've returned."

Eyes blurred, Laura looked across from her, empty seats triggering her mind back to reality. "Oh, has everyone else left the bus?"

"Yes, you're a bit, well, _attached_."

She flung back, realizing she'd slumped over onto him, holding his arm for support. "I'm…I'm really sorry, you should have nudged me, someone could have seen and—"

"Relax, I don't recognize anyone. It's fine. Now, let's bid the sea goodbye. You seem to be keen on drifting off elsewhere."

They climbed a final dune and decided to call it a day. Laura removed her sandals and dug her bare feet into the sand, letting the grains wedge between her toes.

"I love the ocean. I never get to come here. It's so lovely, so humbling."

"Couldn't have said it any better myself. Humbling, that's a nice way to put it. We're rather small compared to the vast stretches of the sea. But…I think we're a bit more important, in the end." He turned away and began walking down the sandy slope. "Ready to head off?"

Laura whined as the car pulled up to the curb in front of her house. "Goodness, the day's over already. It's really a shame, it is!"

Layton laughed. "It's only 2 o'clock, hardly the end of the day."

"The end of _my_ day. I won't be doing anything but studies and sitting indoors. My parents are dictators! As soon as they come home from work and socializing, it'll be complete lock-down."

"Well, request their permission to go on a walk, say, a few blocks from here this evening." He smiled, stepping out from the car. He walked around to open her door.

"Well, I suppose. Say, do you have a puzzle for me today?"

"I do indeed. This one may be a bit tougher than before, but I'm sure you'll get it:

_Leona Noel, Edna Lalande, and Nella Allen are best friends._

_What do they have in common?"_

—_Don't read further if you want to solve it! There's a couple hints ahead just before the answer…_—

"Well, how should I know? That's the most obscure one yet!" Laura moaned. She thought about it for a second, then sighed. "I need a hint."

"It's actually easier if you write it out." He handed the piece of paper over with the puzzle written out. "Take a good hard look at the names."

She glanced at the names over and over, trying to count the vowels to see if they each had the same amount, the same with the consonants. "I…I feel really dumb…"

Layton laughed. "It's fine. We all come to puzzles we struggle with. Read the names backwards."

With a slap to the forehead, Laura laughed. "Oh! They're all palindromes! What a joke!"

"Indeed!"

"Well, I have one for you as well, but I was actually planning on stopping by your house later anyway, so it's written out in my room. I'll convince my parents I have a study group session with some random set of girls and need to join if I want my grades to improve."

Professor Layton pocketed the paper with the puzzle on it, pulling out a small leather box. He handed it to Laura. "Just a little something."

Laura punched herself mentally, in silent hysterics how the little box and the whole aura of the scene was very reminiscent of a marriage proposal.

'_GOOD GOD, I really don't expect that, but how odd for it to resemble such a thing!_'

She opened it carefully, soon staring at a silver locket. It was in the shape of an oval, a word etched across it.

"It says 'solution' in Latin."

"How'd I know that you would recognize that… Open it."

"But that's such an _ugly_ word to have on a necklace…" She stopped, looking wistfully at the picture inside. "Oh it's…a picture of… How did you get this?"

"Seems that someone snapped a shot at the conference. I thought it turned out rather well. I found it in one of the newsletters that Gressenheller puts out monthly."

Although small, it was a rather photogenic shot of the both of them, having accepted their respective awards, sitting at one of the many tables in the large banquet hall during the conference months ago. It was one of the rare times that she'd smiled that evening, grinning at something the Professor had said. He seemed to have found it humorous as well, an amused smile complementing his pleasant expression.

"Who would have taken this…? It's from across the table. No one sat across from us."

"I'm uncertain myself, but whoever it was, they did a smashing job. I thought it was a lovely photo."

She smiled, looking at him contemplatively. "It's been some time since then, although it feels like yesterday. When did you have this done?"

"What, the necklace? Just this afternoon, if you'll believe it. While you were having your fun with the hats, I snuck off to a jeweler. I'd been meaning to do it for quite some time, but never was able to get around to it. I got it etched for free, quite a decent fellow, the jeweler, I must say."

Laura let the silky chain run through her fingers, connecting and unconnecting the clasp numerous times. "Why the word 'solution'? Solution to what?"

"That's your bonus puzzle for today. I haven't teased you in a while. It may be irksome to you, but it's rather addictive on my end, seeing you confused." With a slight tip of his hat, he bent down and kissed her cheek, chuckling at her annoyed expression. "What's with that repulsive grimace? Repayment for last time."

"Last time?"

"You never told me to stop, so…"

"You wouldn't listen if I did!" she spat, shoving the locket back into its box.

"You have me all wrong, Laurie. A gentleman always caters to a lady's needs. You have my word." He winked, walking back to his car.

Even though her insides just felt as if they had melted, they immediately froze over. She gave him a reproving look. "Oh, why don't you just shut up and dust some rocks or something!" Turning towards her house, she took a few stomps before spinning back around. "But thank you for today, all the same!"

With a quick wave and a laugh, the Professor drove the little car, its whirring and chugging audible as it rolled to the intersection and turned out of sight.

* * *

**Yeah, that puzzle? I looooooooooooooove palindromes. I even have a favorite: lonely Tylenol. HAHAHA. And I look for palindromes on digital clocks too. I'm such a loser.**


	18. CH 18: ACCELERATION DUE TO DEPRAVITY

**This chapter was originally short. But…I felt it needed more beef. Thus, over 9,000 words again. OH WELL. It would have been finished sooner but I've been busy with work, and my 2 year old brother was in the hospital for the past two days…**

**I don't like how this chapter turned out. I MIGHT REWRITE IT. :[[[ I'm not happy with it, not happy at all…..**

**I animated some of Laura's expressions. It's terrible but…it's my first try at animation! Haha. Remove the spaces! **008kenichijouji . deviantart . com/art/Laura-Animated-284960407

**Your reviews are WHOLE-HEARTEDLY appreciated to the highest degree, even if you think your opinion doesn't matter, etc. IT DOES. Also, let me know your predictions, and how you thought this would have played out, if you were the author! Reviews and comments make me happy. :]**

**Needing to use the bathroom,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 18: ACCELERATION DUE TO DEPRAVITY**

_May 3__rd__,Monday_

_Hello, Journal. This is only the 7__th__ time I've written in you. Perhaps you're lonely. Well, you aren't the only one._

_It's almost the end of the semester, and with it, the end of the school year. I'm already close to finishing my first year of college. For that, I am glad. Although it could be better, if only it was my final year…_

_But as for the most pressing issue:_

_Hershel hasn't quite been himself lately (it's becoming more natural to call him by his first name, by the way). I noticed a change like this before, but I just attributed it to him trying to lay low, not wanting to let on to others about us spending time with one another outside of class. He's still quiet about it all, as am I, but… He's becoming more unresponsive to _me_. Always in thought. Reviews have become anything but enjoyable, and I'd rather go home right after class. I don't really need them anyway; I suppose I've just been going because…well…it's nice to chat. That's the sole reason. I don't ever miss a review, but… I might start next week, if it doesn't improve any. Well, school's coming to an end soon anyhow, as I've mentioned…_

_He rarely laughs anymore, and is sometimes curt, even to me! 'Gentleman' indeed._

_Maybe he's nervous about something. I thought about it in class the other day, maybe I should just be completely honest with him, tell him how I feel and how I interpret all this. I mean, semester is almost through, and the summer's going to be here. He'll be a full-time professor at the University, and won't be living nearby anymore. I won't have an excuse to go to London and see him, as my parents don't let me do anything besides walk about the neighborhood._

_So, then again, maybe I should just keep it to myself, since it will be forced to end anyway…_

_Is that the way I should be? It's rational, I think, but…well, I'm still not cut out for this sort of thing. Admitting to myself that I actually have feelings that can be admitted, that's all so confusing! It means nothing to confess, if I can't come to terms with it!_

_Now I'm confusing myself…._

_When I think of being honest with Hershel, though, I get a bit frightened. It's still eating at me, the fact I'm quite taken with my professor. I don't think it's even too far to say I'm in love with him. Alright, I said it. Well, wrote it. That 'admitting' thing again… I feel it, but feelings are so fleeting! Can I believe it, stand by it? I think I can but…is that enough?_

_I really do think it's more than he merely fancying me as well, the way he behaves, but I don't want to assume. Really, this sounds really stupid and annoying!_

_I don't usually write in a diary, but I got used to talking with Hershel, and now he's a bit lacking in the social department. I resorted to diary entries to soften the blow should I have to acclimate to talking only to myself again. I quite liked having him to share my thoughts with. But…if it means going back to just myself for company, then I suppose I need to get used to it._

_Who am I kidding… I don't feel I can really go back to that now, what with sharing all that time with him… I finally found someone who really is interested in what I have to say and offer, as an equal, and now he's acting curiously? I suppose I had better get to the bottom of it._

_Maybe he's busy?_

_Maybe it's because I never congratulated him for his promotion. He wouldn't get so upset over such a trivial oversight, would he?_

_Either way, I'll figure it out, and write about it later._

_Much love, to me! Ha ha!_

_Laura_

A warm breeze swept through the window of the classroom, reminiscent of the first time Laura had laid eyes on the new assistant professor. Not that it meant anything. At that time, he was just another nuisance, pouring ludicrous topics down her throat, and making her vomit them back up again on a test. At that time, there was a good-humored headmaster, his buoyancy floating him through the class, the new teacher in his wake. Little did any of them know, his death would make waves throughout London, his passing a critical blow to the educational scene.

A lot had changed, since then.

Now, Laura perked up, her reverie broken once again when the door opened, Professor Layton striding into the classroom as usual. Although this time, he was wearing his wool cap again, rather than the top hat. He'd been switching every other day, something else strange that she'd noted. He started class as usual, but his tone of voice was hollow, faded, distant.

"Pop quiz, ladies. No groaning, I need to test your grasp on this material." He passed out half sheets of white printer paper, three questions typed out on each one. "Just answer as best as you can. I'll be walking around, judging how well we've read our textbooks… If I see a significant lack of understanding, I'll cancel it. Be honest, now!"

Groaning, Millie turned to Laura before the quiz got to either of them. "Can you believe this? Why don't you persuade him to stop this? We're all going to fail it anyway!"

"What? Why me? You do it, you're so fond of him, after all," she retorted, writing her name carefully at the top of the paper. The blonde girl smirked, then mumbled under her breath quietly enough for only Laura to hear her.

"As if you don't know, Laura Haris. Rumors have it, you're the Professor's new 'pet', if you know what I mean. Seems you're more carnal than I thought…"

Millie's words were dirty enough to make her heart sink, brain disgusted. As much as Laura wanted to ignore her comments, she felt the need to make her name clean. "Pet? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know, his little toy. And that could mean a _variety_ of things. Nothing short of sexual being included. You wouldn't happen to be reviewing for anything…_condemning_, now, would you, Laura? Every day, archaeology? You're that brainless? I'm sure! You're a genius. It all fits much too well, don't you think? Review, indeed…"

"Really, Millie, why would such a bit of gossip be going around, and what is the meaning of you believing it?" She was starting to get worried, but didn't want to show it so openly. Such rumors were definitely the sort of material to ruin reputations, especially if the rumors made it to her parents. She in no way had any preparation for salvaging a decimated career due to the sort of lie now running rampant throughout the girls' gossip sessions. "I go for archaeology review, and that's final. I really have no other reason to speak with him."

Millie shook her head, writing her name casually at the top of her page, the Professor giving a small hush to the both of them. She waited for him to walk towards another student with her hand in the air. "Well, a few people have heard that Hershel was seen with a young girl, one closely resembling you. He and the mystery person have been seen at several establishments about town, but…well, you know me. I don't believe things unless I see them, but it's a bit suspicious, all the same…" Layton gave her an eye of warning, forcing her to turn back around in her desk. Laura was left with a sunk stomach and an intermittent heartbeat, her breaths getting choked up in her throat.

'_What ridiculous rumors! I don't understand, I just don't! Where would those things come from? There's no basis whatsoever!_ _Whether he wants to listen, whether he's busy, or not, I need to tell him that this is happening. Maybe I, we, haven't been cautious enough. But! I haven't even done anything wrong, really!'_

The paper in front of her remained blank, Laura reawakening to the warm oven of a classroom. She'd been staring at a dusty corner of the window pane, talking mentally to herself. Professor Layton walked by her casually, glancing at her paper. He gave her an admonishing look.

"Nothing?" he whispered, on the verge of a hiss.

Were the circumstances different, Laura would have put on a dismal expression, a teary film glazing over her eyes for displeasing a professor, but currently, she was agitated. She sneered at him, eyes fierce, and shrugged. He shook his head and grabbed her paper brusquely from the desk.

"I'll grade these, ladies, and I'll see if we need to have a make-up class sometime this week. We were forced behind a bit due to the events of March, and with the field trip last month, I guess we didn't cover as much as I wanted to…"

Oh yes, the field trip, Laura thought. Was that when she first noticed the Professor's change in behavior? It was shortly after their trip to the beach when the entire class was scheduled to journey to the coast as well, but in Ireland. A dig had been going on for quite some time along the western coast of the country, and it was actually Laura's advancements in engineering that lent to the increase in production speed and, ultimately, the completion of the project. As the Professor was one of the head archaeologists on the team, he found it only appropriate that his class should make a brief visit, see history in the making firsthand.

They had spent a portion of the day watching the large machine diggers climb out of a stony pit, their dusty parts groaning with every pneumatic hiss as the workers at the controls hauled them away from the area. Then the class kept to a narrow trail, winding deep into the hole until finally entering a dark and cool cave. The girls listened to the guide with rapt attention, all except for Laura, who couldn't help but wander about, trying to access how well her mechanical pursuits faired.

"Seems those machines held up enough to get the job done," she said admiringly, watching the last digger roll heavily away, almost as a parent fond of their child's job well done. "I can't say I'm surprised though."

"You shouldn't be," the Professor had said, a fleeting compliment as he turned her attention back to the damp caverns that the rest of the class was still exploring. "You know we're here for _archaeological knowledge_, however, not to confirm that your expertise served the digging team well. You really need to get back with the class."

It was at that point that she'd noticed a direct change in tone. It wasn't subtle, it wasn't staged. It was just plain and simple instruction, as a professor. Yet it slowly changed into bored directing, as if she were a small child, chided constantly by the teacher for not keeping a straight line or for slowing down the class as they walked to the restroom for a potty break. For the rest of the field trip, she kept to herself, taking to the hotel room and feigning an excruciating headache in order to get the rest of her roommates off her case.

And now, she was walking down one of the many halls at Grissom's College, staring blankly ahead, ignoring the sideways glances of the people she passed. Perhaps she was just paranoid, after what Millie had said. She had every reason to be, after all. But it seemed as if the whole school was eyeing her, sensing she had some dirty secret that was just festering, waiting to be forced into the pain-filled light. She strolled mindlessly through the halls, walking the same path more than twice, lengthening the time between now and when she'd have to knock on the Professor's door. She felt as if she were on some dreadfully nerve-wracking task, when it was merely visiting the office as she always had.

"Come in." The typical voice of the Professor from within his office, although this time, a little dull. Laura wondered if he even enjoyed their chats anymore, what with the way he'd been acting.

She entered hesitantly, wishing she'd just went home. "It's me."

He nodded, as if only expecting it to be her. He immediately busied himself with his tea kettle. "Oh yes, Laura, please do come in."

She sat. "Already tired of using 'Laurie'?" she asked, a weak smile on her face. "You haven't called me that in weeks."

"Hmm, perhaps you're right," he whispered as he placed a single finger to his lips, signaling her to lessen the volume. "Well, Laurie, I was wondering if you'd be free this evening. Right now, I have some important things to attend to so I'll have to cancel review. And, although we've been having these sessions, since you are the only one severely falling behind—"

"Do you _really_ expect me to believe that?" She glared dangerously at him, her fists clenched. "I'm doing just as well, if not better, than many in the course. '_Although we've been having these reviews'_? Really? Who are you faking for? These words aren't yours, they're terribly staged."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You're a god-awful actor, that's what I mean. Do you think someone is listening?"

Layton sighed heavily, standing behind the desk. He leaned over it and motioned for her to come closer. "Never the fool, are you. As expected. Listen, I can't be frank about things as I was in the past. I have some important things to talk about, but not here. _Definitely_ not here. I need you to come over tonight, but you can _not_ be seen. Do you understand?"

She looked at him curiously, internally trying to discern what his words meant. "Of course. I'll just head over after I get home. My parents won't mind if I tell them it's a study group."

"Very well, but please, keep your voice down. And don't let on to where you are going. Other than your parents, don't tell anyone you're going anywhere." He sat down in his chair, eyes tired, his limbs stiff even as he tried relaxing in his seat. "So, that's all for today."

With a turn of her heel, Laura opened and shut the door with a click, but not before audibly mumbling, "Thank the Lord." The Professor was left in silence. Whether it was welcome or not was debatable, as he only worried more when left to his own mind. He sipped his cup thoughtfully, ending with a sigh that sent waves across the tea's surface.

"Disturbances. A ripple effect. So much for reading omens from the tea's dregs when the_ surface _tells me all I need to know."

* * *

Laura impatiently tossed bags of noodles and cans of tomatoes into the small grocery basket, her mother striding quickly down the aisle.

"Any day now, Laura. I'm already onto the next items of the list!"

With a roll of the eyes, the shorter of the two propped the basket on her hip, gripping the handles with a bit of struggle.

"Really, mum, can't I go back to the front for a trolley? This basket isn't very—"

"Only a few more things, it's not too heavy now, is it?" She scanned the list and turned the corner, pressing onward, leaving Laura an aisle behind.

'_If you'd carry it yourself once in a while, you'd know!_'

She continued to mentally grumble to herself when she noticed her mother talking to someone in the middle of the produce section. It was always an awkward thing, meeting teachers in a store, as if they were only allowed to exist in the classroom. And although the one her mother was now animatedly speaking with had gone from the classroom to her heart in a matter of months, it was still a foreign thing, if not somehow embarrassing.

"Oh, here she is now. Laura, what a coincidence, meeting your archaeology professor here!" Mrs. Haris chortled, waving her daughter over to her and the forcibly smiling Professor Layton. "We were just discussing your improvement in the course, or lack thereof."

"How charming," Laura lied, chancing a note of sarcasm in her voice. "Good afternoon, Professor. Forgive my falling behind. This trip would be going a lot faster if I had a trolley…"

Her mother glared at her. "We were just finishing up, weren't we? I say! Laura hasn't invited you to dinner yet, has she? It's customary that we stay in close contact with all of Laura's professors, especially when they've done so much for her. What, with the extra review and taking her to engineering over at the University for the past month or so, it's only proper to treat you somehow, even if it is as humble as a dinner."

Layton laughed. "Really now, Mrs. Haris, that's quite kind of you, but terribly unnecessary. I'm merely doing my job, as do all of the professors. Staying in tune with your daughter's progress is thanks enough. It keeps your daughter on track, as I find that students tend to fall behind if it's only their professors attempting to corral their efforts within the classroom."

The woman was resolute to not be distracted, nor to take anything but affirmation as an answer. She waved his comment to the wayside of the conversation, giggling. "Still, as it stands, we owe you our thanks otherwise. Are you free this evening to join us for dinner, Professor Layton?"

Laura cleared her throat. "But, what about my review? I told you I had a study group to go to this evening," she interrupted. With a chiding glance from her mother, she knew in an instant that finding out what the Professor was going to tell her would have to be postponed for the time being, no matter how anxious she was to hear it.

"Silly girl. That can wait for one evening, surely! Professor, we'd love to have you over at 6 o'clock, if that is fitting for you."

The Professor eyed Laura briefly, as if telling her to keep quiet. He returned to his typical smiling expression. "Well, if you insist, I'd be most happy to acquiesce."

Soon after the trip to the grocery (along with a brief admonishing from her mother about how she shouldn't interrupt and make a mockery of her mother's conversation), Laura found herself peeling potatoes and grimacing at her mother's choice of wine for the evening, knowing well that the Professor wouldn't touch it. After finishing her task, she retreated to her room. She glanced at her bed, wanting to just phase into dreams, but knew better, given the situation.

"A dinner… Of all nights, of all times, _why_ did she have to meet and recognize him at the store _now_? Any other time, she's all about me studying, and then _now_? It's all about pleasing people!"

An hour went by before she faintly heard her father calling down for her. She looked up at a bird on the window sill near her desk, its small beady eyes gazing back at her. It flew away as she stood up. She rubbed her eyes, wondering when she'd dozed off.

She was descending the stairs as her father opened the front door, Professor Layton graciously handing over an enormous woven basket with berries of all sorts as he stepped inside the foyer. Her father hoisted the gift higher into his arms and carried it from the room, not bothering to notice his daughter at the bottom of the staircase. She smiled tiredly at her guest.

"Welcome. Your first time inside, isn't it?"

He removed his hat, handing it to her with his typical warm smile. "Indeed. Such a bored looking hostess. Don't you know you're supposed to be welcoming to your guests?"

Sighing, she took his hat and hung it gingerly on a hook on the wall. "I don't feel I can be very welcoming when I don't like the change in events. You aren't supposed to be _here_, and neither am I."

"Don't worry," he whispered, laying a confident hand on her shoulder as she led the way to the dining room. "It's nothing so important that you have to worry about it. I was…a bit stressed earlier. It's mostly my burden. I shouldn't have made you feel involved, I apologize."

"Well, I can't help but feel that way now, with what you said and all…"

"Oh, you're wearing the locket I gave you." He placed a quick kiss to her cheek before turning the corner. "Smile. Your concerned face is too…well…"

"I don't want to hear it." Laura blushed and scowled as her mother flew from the kitchen, placing dishes on the serving table against the wall. She greeted the Professor with an energy that only came out when carousing with those she considered elite, her expression hardening as she glowered at Laura to set the table quickly lest they have to wait to eat any longer.

It was a chore to get through, the dinner. As her parents coddled and buttered up the humble professor, Laura's insides twisted and churned, wishing herself away to some other place, some other uncomfortable situation. Anything but the current. She could tell the Professor was equally uneasy, but was handling it with finesse and grace, as expected. On her end, she'd have rather overturned the gravy boat over her father's balding head, stuff her goose of a mother with the dressing to mimic the entrée, and leave behind the whole thing as she walked cheerily to the Professor's house.

'_But I digress…_' she thought, smiling inwardly to herself.

Mr. Haris finally led the group into the sitting room after dinner had passed, offering the best recliner to the Professor as Mrs. Haris brought out a tray with dessert and tea.

"What a lovely piano," Professor Layton exclaimed, admiring the large instrument that loomed along the wall. "I assume it only receives the utmost love and attention from its players?"

Laura's father grunted. "Well, my wife and I don't play, but Laura does. Although, she's not allowed while school is in session. Gets too distracting, it does."

The Professor glanced over at Laura, who stood winding her fingers together, blatantly embarrassed now that the conversation was directed toward her. He smiled in sympathy, already knowing her feelings.

"Well, let's hear a tune now then, Laura. School's just about over, as it were."

Laura looked up, incredulous. "What?"

"A tune. Play us a song," he said, motioning to the piano. "Show us your talents."

Laura looked at her father, who sharply looked to the piano and back at her, his eyes threatening to punish her if she weren't to grant the Professor's request.

"You heard the man. A song! Your mother and I didn't pay for all those lessons just to go and tell people all about it! Show 'im!"

The rest took their seats as Laura slowly sat on the piano bench, her thoughts a violent whirlwind as she stared down the music stand. Her mind debated with itself, wondering what to play.

"If I may make a request, let's have something peppy, something unique," Layton suggested, as if reading her thoughts. "The first part of Satie's '_Le belle excentrique_'?"

Laura turned halfway and looked at him curiously. "I can't. That's a—"

Her father grunted once more, sounding as if he were an irritated, impatient pig at the trough. "Play the song."

"You don't understand, it's—"

"_Just play the song, Laura_," he spat venomously, the last say on the matter.

She turned around to face the piano again and shook her head, pelting out the first few measures when she sensed someone at her side. Without warning, the Professor began the other necessary part of the piece.

"A duet, precisely," he said softly, rhythmically keeping the tempo as Laura tried looking over sideways, disbelieving the entire thing. "Just play."

"But how can you—"

"Decided to start practicing a bit more. It's paying off, don't you think?"

It ended as quickly as it started, but with more curiosity than anger. Laura stared dumbfounded at the ivory and ebony keys while her parents praised and glorified the Professor, obviously surprised he possessed such a skill. He shrugged it off as he reclaimed his seat.

"Well, after all, it required two to play, so it wasn't all me. Your daughter is quite the musician, isn't she? You should be proud." He looked at Laura's parents, expecting a compliment from them to their daughter, but knowing it would have to be forced out of them. Mr. Haris grimaced as he turned to Laura.

"A surprise, indeed. You've proven to be rather adept at it, haven't you?" the large man managed to work out, clearly having trouble constructing positive criticism. Her mother followed only with a taut smile, threatening to rip her face at the corners of her mouth, the gesture was so unpracticed. Laura knew better than to really believe any of it, and merely nodded. Normally she'd take the time to think about their actions, steadfastly holding to the fact they were fake. Tears would start in the corners of her eyes when she would become too self-conscious. But her surprise at her teacher's hidden skill took precedence over her self-pity.

She took a seat next to her parents and set her eyes on the tea tray, watching the steam from the pot block a small strip of background from view. She watched it rise and fade as her parents' conversations went from her pursuits to her grades to her acquisition of the QwiqLogiq scholarship. All about her, but never including her. She sat quietly, drifting in and out of a deep daze when her father asked suddenly about the Professor himself.

"So, Mr. Layton, any plans for your future? I hear you'll be starting up as a full time professor at Gressenheller. Quite far up the ranks in the archaeology department, aren't you!"

Layton smiled, taking a quick sip from his tea cup. "Yes, next semester I'll be doing all of my work at the University. As for plans, I enjoy my work as an educator and don't see myself doing anything else at the moment."

"Excellent. Say, you have yourself a family? A wife, children?"

He blushed, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "No no, I don't have either. I suppose I haven't had much time to even _think_ of pursuing a family."

Mr. Haris roared as Mrs. Haris picked up the empty cups and tray, taking them to the kitchen. "Well, you aren't missing out on too much! Although, I suppose in the end it keeps a man _grounded_, gives a man a place to return to at night. Gives a man something to protect. And it isn't too…_acceptable_ for a man to get so old, and never be married, you know. Makes people talk, no matter how tolerant a society appears. Makes 'em wonder… Now, honestly, between you and me, the mate pool gets worse and worse, so you'd better find yourself a woman quick if it's in you to marry. Doesn't look like you're getting any younger."

The Professor smiled and tried to chuckle along with the burly man across from him, but felt more awkward rather than satisfied with how the conversation was going. His student sat emotionless, hands folded in her lap. He wasn't sure if she was even listening anymore.

"I suppose someday I'll get around to it. As for now, I'm teaching, and that's a life all on its own."

"I don't doubt it is, don't doubt it at all." The giant stood, brushing crumbs from the front of his shirt. "Well, what's the time now? Do you drink, Mr. Layton?"

The Professor glanced at his watch. "I don't, Derek, but I really should be going. I still have some things to prepare for my class tomorrow morning. I sincerely thank you for this evening. It was very wonderful, all of it."

As everyone clustered about the front door, the Professor took his hat and sat it rightfully atop his head. He smiled at Laura. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow morning, bright and early!"

"Class is at 11 though, Professor," Laura corrected him, smiling in an effort to cover a laugh. "Hardly early."

"Well, you do remember that I wanted everyone in a bit earlier tomorrow, as we have to make up for the class time we lost due to our field trip? I would say around 9:30. That should suffice."

She nodded after quietly decoding the situation. "Oh yes, that's right. I almost forgot."

Her parents continued peppering the Professor with comments and praises while she retreated, knowing no one would notice her failure to bid him farewell. Especially not her parents, as they were busy with sycophanting. She scaled the staircase slowly, looking behind her as the three stood on the front step, still talking, then ran up to her room, wondering all the more how the extra morning time would be utilized.

* * *

"Well, you made me wake up earlier than usual. This had better be worth it." Laura yawned, faking boredom as Professor Layton poured both a cup of tea.

"I dare say it is worth it."

"You know I hate hot tea…"

"To important matters," he said, ignoring her comment. "First, I'd like to say that it was a happy coincidence that I should meet you and your mother at the grocery. I'm glad it came about in the way it did."

Staring into her cup, Laura laughed. "Really? It was the most embarrassing situation to ever come about. What with my parents trying to brownnose every moment, and _you_ forcing such a difficult song! Which, you told me that you play, but you never told me that you _can_ play. Like, you know, you _can play_, if you know what I mean. And very well at that."

"A meaningful compliment, coming from you," he said with a warm grin. "I've been listening to Satie since that concert. I figured you'd know a song or two from the man."

"Yet you never have played for me before then," she said in a low growl. "You do realize it's difficult to find people who truly appreciate a proper musicality…"

He smiled apologetically. "I don't like to show off."

"Regardless, last night was a very uncomfortable thing. My parents are very, well…. Not too easy to get along with, really.

He nodded. "It was difficult conversation, to put it politely, but it was still enjoyable. Your father seemed to be enjoying himself the most."

"He'd had wine."

"Perhaps… But I got to have a lovely dinner with you, so, it's good enough in the end."

Laura groaned, quite wishing he'd cut to the chase and be done with it. She'd been up all night, thinking of possible scenarios and things that he'd say this morning. "Would you get to the reason you called me here so early?"

With a sigh, Layton looked up from his cup. He stood and walked to the door, locking it. "Straight to the point, I've become worried about…well, um, how do I put this…?"

"Does it have to do with me?"

"Strangely enough, it does."

She wasn't sure what it was exactly, but Laura's heart did something. Sank, fluttered, began to fail, she didn't know, but it felt peculiar. She knew what Millie had said and how she wanted to address it with the Professor, but what was about to be revealed… She didn't have much of a clue about what it was. Could it be related to Millie's comment? It could go either way: positive, in favor of her peace of mind, or negative, in favor of making her worry herself into a heart attack. And at the moment, as bizarre as it was, she wasn't quite sure which type she wanted.

She resorted to keep her composure, however difficult it would prove to be. "Well…if it's the same thing that's been making you behave markedly different for the past month, then it's probably important. Let's hear it."

"I'm glad you're so calm about this, because it's been clouding my thinking." He pulled the other guest chair directly in front of her, taking a seat. "We need to express our friendship in another way, on the school grounds and off. I have the feeling that some are starting to think negatively of how we spend our time."

Laura let her eyes fall to her lap. She quietly rubbed one of her knuckles, continuing to the others as she thought. "So, this has nothing to do with me not congratulating you for your promotion?"

He looked at her quietly, confused, then burst into a chuckle, breaking up the tension in the room. "Heavens, no! Although I did notice. But no, that's not the problem. It's just, well, this new headmaster. She's quite the…well, how to say this cordially—"

"She's a cutthroat, sexist feminist who has no place for men in her grand schemes. I'll also duly note that she attempts to exude the aura of a benevolent leader, yet she merely falls to the title of 'misguided do-gooder with degree', with an agenda that gravitates towards the cunning, calculating shrewdness of a snake. In other words, she's a wench."

Layton looked about the room, sucking his teeth in brief contemplation, until landing eyes back on hers. "That's one way to put it, yes. Not how I would say it, but the same meaning is expressed, yes, indeed."

"You're too kind, that's why."

"Perhaps." His smile returned, fondly grinning at the student in front of him. "And you're too clever. Regardless, the headmaster has been questioning me, as she has reason to believe that I'm catering to a selection of students. I don't know why she thinks so but—"

"These girls, your students, my classmates…they talk. It's not a 'selection' of students, it's a 'single' student. And there's now a rumor about. I wouldn't doubt that the girls find the headmaster to be a sort of counselor, that they would take to her with their complaints." She smirked. "Plus, they have been out to get me from day one."

Layton swallowed his tea, gazing thoughtfully into the cup. "That's not completely off the mark. I believe I'm being subtly interrogated in order to accidentally reveal some hidden information, whatever it may be. I think she suspects me of something. I'm not sure what she is going on but I feel it's rather dangerous to behave casually as we have. Teachers are meant to teach. Our reviews and activities external to the school are anything but educationally related. Therefore, private review is hereby banned."

Reality hitting hard, Laura shouted out. "But, that's not fair! I rely on that! For…educational purposes, I mean. My grades might slip…"

"Hmm, someone's rather eager to learn a subject she supposedly hates," he mumbled, chuckling to himself as Laura sneered bitterly.

"Shut up."

"Do you not think I have a solution? You do need to continue being tutored, do you not? I believe it's in your best interest to continue, so I expect you daily at my house, 4:30 PM sharp. I'm hosting a study group up until finals."

She grumbled, exhaling audibly. "That's not the review I'm used to… Group? I can't learn in a group."

"Well, you can only expect yourself to show until I find the invitations I misplaced." He winked. "Can't seem to find them anywhere, no, I can't. Rather strange…"

"Um, verbal invite? Like you just did for me?" With a crafty smile she let him ruffle her hair as he stood, continuing to the door.

"Humour me, won't you?" He unlocked the door, opening it. "There are no other invitations, if you haven't come to that conclusion yet."

"I'm not a Neanderthal. Shall I tell the headmaster on you?"

"There's nothing in the handbook against studying."

"For playing favorites. Catering." She smirked deviously, her eyes barely visible as her cheeks pushed upward to make room for her grin.

"Who said you were my favorite?" He shrugged at her scoffing, her expression changing within seconds.

"Oh yes, that's believable."

"Now then, 4:30 PM sharp, or else reviews are permanently canceled in all forms, group and private." He gave her a severe glance, his tone humorless as he walked out the door, pulling it slowly behind him. "And there's also nothing in the handbook against professors assigning repercussions for unruly students."

Laura placed a finger to her chin. "My, someone's eager to conduct a review for a student who's supposedly not his favorite, and who supposedly isn't being catered to."

With a deep sigh, finding a battle of wits fruitless, Professor Layton left the office with a click of the door, smiling to the girl's giggle of ephemeral victory as he walked down the hall.

* * *

The pond reflected the willow branches and cattails as distorted, wavering stalks of green and brown. Layton tossed a pebble in lazily, silently watching the ripples. "That pie should be close to done now, Laurie. How about we go inside?"

Laura made the trek to the Professor's house a bit earlier than usual. She began going to reviews at the starting time of 4:30, but slowly found an affinity for leaving a quarter of an hour earlier each new day. She was now coming over at about 2:30 each day, staying for several hours before finally returning home.

"It's such a lovely afternoon though…" Laying her book down in her lap, she checked his pocket watch. "Oh my! It's almost 6. Bloody time. It eludes me more than your puzzles do!"

"You solve them almost every time though, so they aren't so elusive, now are they?" He took her book from her and linked her arm with his, walking her across the lawn and to the porch. Removing his shoes, he continued to the kitchen, leaving Laura in the sitting room. She sat on a stiff chair and thumbed through a book on the History of China, crying inside from the sheer amount of

foreign names that popped up on the numerous pages.

"How do you ever manage to read through these, Hershel?" she asked exasperatedly as Layton sat a plate with dessert on the small end table.

"I spend most nights alone in the quiet, you know. One must do something to pass the time." He cut into a piece of pie with a fork. "Puzzles half the time, books in the other…"

"Sure. Or spending time with me." She immediately felt silly as his face turned a shade lighter than the inside of the pie. Following suit with her own slice of cherry pie, she sounded off her approval with a low hum. "Mmm. You've outdone yourself again. I'm thinking there's not a single thing you aren't capable of."

"We're both gods of the world then," he chortled, grinning while chewing another bite. She looked at him sarcastically.

"Please, Hershel. Your compliments are so droll." She finished her piece in silence, only looking up after the Professor hadn't moved or said anything for some time. He bored holes into the floor rug with his eyes, a concerned expression upon his face. "Thinking? That's a silly question, I guess. When aren't you?"

He stirred, shaking himself from whatever thoughts he was buried in. "I'm fine. Just a bit of a daydream, that's all. May I take your dish?"

Laura followed him to the kitchen, watching carefully as he placed the dishes and utensils into the sink. "Would it be rude to inquire…about your thoughts?"

"You know it's never rude to ask things of me, Laurie." He had gotten quite accustomed to using the nickname outside of the classroom, feeling almost closer to her now that it was only he who used the name. He turned around, wiping his hands on a towel, familiar, warm expression returning to his face. "I'm your open book."

She looked at the floor. "You've…been getting lost in thought lately. Not that that's odd, but…it's only when you're around me. You're fine in the classroom. You used to talk more. Now, you think two-thirds of the time. I know you're worried about what people might be thinking but—"

Layton walked past her briskly, motioning to the front door in his passing. She followed him to the porch, sitting beside him on the wooden swing. He sat on the edge, feet planted firmly on the porch floor, not allowing the swing to move. His hands covered his knees.

"I have something to discuss with you, but I'm not sure how to approach the topic appropriately." He looked straight ahead, much like he just had in the sitting room. Laura looked at him through the corner of her eyes, hands in her lap. "I'm not even sure if it should be brought up. I'm sure it's terribly obvious already, but—well, yes, I just don't know how to go about it. It's not really appropriate for me to ask others, such as my colleagues, about it so I can't say I'm sure how to properly compose myself on the issue."

Her eyes narrowed, trying to comprehend his words. "If that's a puzzle, it's rather cryptic to catch on to."

"This isn't a puzzle in the slightest."

"Did the headmaster say something to you again?"

"This is different."

His quick and short responses somehow jarred her. There was an urgent, frantic tone to his voice, almost fearful. He drew in a long, sharp breath.

"Laurie…" The swing was able to return to its free, pendulum motion. Sitting back, he turned towards her. "The whole situation with the headmaster, the comments she made… I felt offended by whatever it was I believed she was insinuating, assuming. I found her presumptuous."

"She is! At least… Yeah, well….it is presumptuous, sure…" She stopped, realizing that he had never actually told her what the headmaster believed he was doing wrong. Was the headmaster's line of thinking parallel to the rumors Millie was tossing around wantonly, or was the headmaster simply concerned that not all students were being treated equally? Laura had assumed it was the former, but to assume that meant that the Professor really was more than just fond of her, that she was more than just 'teacher's pet'…

'_Oh my…I think I know where this is going…_'

Layton shook his head. "I realized there was a reason I was offended. I was most definitely, inarguably guilty. Obviously, I am painting a picture, one that tells others my true feelings, the ones that your classmates and the headmaster are starting to pick up on. It's something that I feel needs to finally be brought into the open, at least with you."

"I…really don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing to be guilty for." She tossed her hands up. "It's just a petty rumor, some silly girls talking about things that they probably make up and gossip about at slumber parties."

He gave her a scornful look, perhaps even disparaging. "You aren't going to be able to play dumb anymore. You know what I'm talking about. I'm making this as plain as possible. It's not really such a hard thing to figure out, what with how much time we've been spending together, it's… Well, it's human nature, really, to start having feelings for things that we come to know well."

She felt her heart beats becoming erratic. She knew exactly what he was going on about, but couldn't feed into it just yet. Her stubborn, challenging personality got the best of her; she wouldn't let him let it out easy. He never would let _her_ get off easy! Return the favor, she thought. After all the blasted puzzles, all the things he alluded to but never admitted. He wasn't now going to just lay it all on the table with no recompense. "You…are really going to miss teaching us after this semester is over, aren't you? Being your last year as assistant, and all that. You'll just miss me, right? You'll miss us, yes?"

He sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling. "_Laurie_… Please don't play dumb with me. You're too smart for that. I really don't need this right now. It's difficult enough as it is."

"It's fun to see a side of you that others don't get to though," she admitted, chuckling. "Like how it feels, to be met with a challenge? You throw this sort of cleverness at me, why can't I return the favor?"

"I don't like emotional challenges of this sort… Mental, I can handle. Logic. I can not put up with _this_, these head games, for very long. I know you for sure don't like them. I'm sorry, you're a bit stronger than I, I suppose." He returned his eyes to hers, holding her gaze in his effortlessly. "Are you going to let me finish? Sans sarcasm?"

"I suppose," she said in a sing-song voice, a grin playing at the corners of her lips. She felt silly, fooling around and not letting him finish, but she was afraid of his words. She wanted to hear them, she had entrusted that secret to herself months ago, but the implications of the truth continued to brand images in her mind. Honest to herself, she was scared.

'_Is this feeling…the reason why so many people get cold feet before their wedding, or before making any major decision in life?_'

"I must say," he continued, "I've had some of the best moments of my life merely sitting here with you, chatting, sharing, engaging, conversing, thinking. I can't just toss these facts out of my mind. And if I were to make a guess at your thoughts, you continue to enjoy the time as well. Am I correct?"

She broke her gaze away from his and nodded, staring at a hole in the porch's floorboards. Please, have a snake come out of the hole and bite me! she thought. Anything to change the subject! The nervousness she'd encountered many times before was slowly inching its way back, although she thought she'd conquered it months prior. He moved closer to her.

"Laurie, I have shared so much with you. And…I've _toiled _with the fact that although I'm your professor, and we are somewhat far apart in age…"

"Around 10 years, give or take…" The number sounded so much larger when she said it. She felt quite a bit uncomfortable at the thought, now that she had verbally expressed the figure. "And yes, you _are_ my college professor…"

Layton looked at the trimming on Laura's dress, defeated. "I… As awful as it sounds, though, Laurie…I can't deny the fact that I felt guilty when interrogated by the headmaster because I feel passionately attracted to you. And…" He laid his right hand over hers, looking into her eyes once more. "…not just through an academic perspective, although you provide quite a bit of that, indeed. I…" He bit his lip and closed his eyes, sighing. "This is more complicated than I thought."

"Hershel, it's—" she started.

"No, I'm sorry. I feel absolutely disgusting and unfit to be telling any you any of this. I should have never allowed this to go so far… I suppose I should have just let things die out on their own, instead of attending to them."

"Hershel." The girl put her hand over his, shaking it slightly so that he would look up at her. She felt a deep sense of dreadful guilt, mindful of the fact that it takes 'two to tango'. "It's okay. I…am equally to blame. I mean, there's not many men who would shy away from a young woman fancying them, falling in love with them even. Although, it's not as if I ever told you that before. Outloud. To your face… As I just did."

'_I'm such a failure!_'

Layton shook his head, eyebrows knit in anger. "It's never the lady's fault. _Never_ blame yourself for anything, Laura, do you understand? I led you into this, and I shouldn't have, but now I feel like I can't go back. I… I really, truly, am at a loss. I can't organize any of my thoughts and feelings logically. I feel things that I can't explain, that I can't change no matter how hard I try. I just want to not _think _for once, and just be myself, just act on what I know is real! It's not like I'm doing something immoral, I've thought it all out rationally and I just…well, I just…" He trailed off weakly, pulling her towards him with contrasting force, pressing his lips against hers. She gasped slightly, shocked.

A part of her was telling her that society dictated that this relationship from the very start was wrong! It should be abandoned now at least! To spare both of them from any further questioning by anyone! But… Another part of her told her to keep going, that what she was feeling and doing right now was 100% right, and she would continue no matter what anyone told her. That was her stubbornness, battling her traditionalist self.

'_Why couldn't I be older…?_'

What had she been hoping and dreaming for, for the past three months? She occasioned the daydreams more often now, not caring about her appearance, whether she sat staring stupidly in the classroom, on a bus, while walking home... She didn't care.

'_All because I'm a stupid, naïve student. The very type of person I hate!_'

Smiling against his nervous mouth, she wrapped her arms about his neck, parting her lips slightly. She invited him to use his tongue by teasing him with hers. Without hesitation, he held her close and accepted, trying to taste every part of her mouth. She let out an accidental moan and cut it off sharply, pulling away and staring with wide eyes.

"Haha, I'm…sorry. I didn't mean for that…it's just…well, see how dangerous it is when you just…act without thinking? Really, Hershel, we shouldn't do that, rational or not, it's just—well, you know what the headmaster thinks! She somehow knows!"

He brushed the tips of his fingers against his lips delicately, as if debating whether what they had just done was real. "I don't care what she thinks and knows."

"You can't say such things! Do you really want to get in trouble, tarnish your reputation, defile your good name with such an indelible stain?" Her voice rose in panic, uncertain whether he was even listening to her.

His smile was distracted as he stared at the patch of swing between them. "In trouble? She's running on crooked lies and warbled gossip from an unreliable source. No one would suspect anything. Laura, do you love me?"

Laura groaned, clenching her fists tightly. "Good God, Hershel, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong," he stated calmly, warm smile resting on his lips. "If you feel for me as I feel for you, logically, their accusations are baseless and false. Rumors about me using a student, favoring a student? What student? You aren't a student to me anymore. In the class, maybe. But outside, you're just another woman."

Laura shifted backwards slightly, shaking her head. "No, no, you can't say it, you can't or else we'll get in trouble, it has got to remain a secret!"

"No, no more secrets, Laura," he whispered. He looked at her slyly, catching her off guard in the same way he did back on his first day of teaching, when she surprised him with the distance puzzle's correct answer. Had he used the same smile then? It seemed more energized now. "This isn't the most proper place for this, is it?"

He slipped his arms underneath her knees and behind her back, scooping her up in one swift motion. He forced open the front door holding a laughing Laura, her arms about his neck.

"What in _blazes_ are you doing? Have you gone mad? You're going to drop me! Hershel, please!"

She yelled it out just as it happened, Layton tripping over the rug hem and taking her down with him. He landed over her, allowing only a second's gaze before covering her face in kisses upon noticing that she was okay. He slowly moved down her neck, teasing the skin just above her chest.

"Hershel, what…what are you doing…? This isn't…really…"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he whispered, kissing her nose. "I'm going to break from thinking for this evening. I've thought enough during the past year of teaching. I'm done with it. Laurie, you are so much more than a student to me. I don't believe that I've been very subtle about it. Even if I was trying to hide it behind puzzles, it was still there, being alluded to. And…" He looked down her neck, tracing his fingers along her collarbone, outlining her dress, smoothing the material covering her chest. "I'm finding it very difficult to resist you at the moment."

"And where on earth did the gentleman Hershel Layton run off to?" she laughed as she pulled his face to hers, staring into his small dark eyes. He blinked in surprise, trying to focus his vision. "Fine, then I'll do the same. I refuse to resist. Do you know how long I've sat in that classroom, in your office, stressing over my feelings?" She let him lift her up once more, holding her against him more securely than the last try. "Feeling guilty and awful for longing to see you again the next day? Finding pleasure in watching you ramble on about bones and fossils and Egyptian history? And I _hate_ archaeology, Hershel."

"You've only told me 1,000 times. 1,001 times won't hurt," he chuckled in a low voice. They were ascending the staircase.

"I stayed up so late most nights, wishing I had been born at least 10 years earlier so that I would have more acceptance in being your lover as a fellow academic, rather than falling in love with my educator." She stared at him longingly. "Do you know what that's like? Of course you don't."

He stopped and stood in front of a dark wooden door. "I understand more than you know, living in the same fear: of feelings, and of outside, societal pressures. Mine are graver to bear, as the supposedly more mature, wiser one. It scared me since, well, you're only 18 but… Apparently, I'm not allowed to be a witness to the same, or possibly greater, wisdom of one so much younger than me. It's almost a crime, you know.

But, unfortunately, I feel I'm the victim. You see, the perpetrator is you." Placing a quick peck to her lips, he turned the door's handle slowly.

"_Me?_" Laura scowled, contorting her face in disgust. What rubbish! How could he even think of such things, let alone _say_ them! "You haven't been listening to me! I've told you all the girls are suspicious! We can't even talk together as we used to, since all I get from them is 'How's Mrs. Laura Layton? How was today's 'lesson', Laura?' I hear it all the time. I have to be secretive about where I'm going, whom I'm getting help from. There are _rumors_, Hershel! Rumors! And you're saying it's my fault? I thought you said it's never the lady's fault! I—"

"Ah, ah. Naughty children must be disciplined, no getting out of this."

"But that's not _my_ fault! And I'm not a child! Who was it who lent to those feelings being developed, hmm? You offered to spend time with me! You catered to my birthday, and other things, and, well, it's not all my fault!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

Setting her on her feet, Layton gently pushed her backwards into the faintly lit room. "Perhaps, but I'll see to it you get your just punishment."

"Punishment?"

Not waiting for another word or objection, the door closed with a soft click.

END.

* * *

Ahahahahaha. What were you expecting, really? Review, people, review.


	19. CHAPTER 19: WHOLE

**This is really just a mini-chapter. Kinda just fluff. I wouldn't even call it a chapter. But it's the semi-calm before the storm. One of the storms. Maybe. Oooooh, I do hate surprises!**

**Anyway, it was mentioned by one of my faithful readers that a one-shot is in order, following the previous chapter. I'm thinking I'll just include the information within the upcoming chapters. While I do have the pluck to do such a thing—meaning, adding in the missing info after the slight cliffhanger….catch my drift?—it will come later rather than sooner. I don't write lemons for the sheer joy of the thing. I want it in good taste. So, it will be as such!**

**For those of my readers who don't like material venturing towards the "lemon" label, I hear your cry, and I will place the details in a way where you can avoid it. I really don't like stumbling across things that I didn't intend to find, so I don't want to have my readers experience the same…**

**Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here's another stupid chunk of garbage to read.**

**Hole punching to the ends of the earth,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 19: (W)HOLE**

Laura opened her eyes slowly. The darkness of the room told her it was definitely past 8 o'clock. Blinking the sleep away, she tried to comprehend why she was seeing walls that were not her own. The sheets felt too soft to be her own. The room was indeed too _large_ to be her own. She curled herself up, loving the cold feeling of the fabric that had not yet been warmed by her skin.

In a moment, her brain remembered.

Turning quickly, she craned her neck to the right. A dark shape was spread out underneath the bed sheet, holding its pillow tightly. The Professor's head and body were turned away from her, but she could tell he was shirtless.

Looking down at herself, she realized she wasn't clothed in anything either.

She sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her movement shook the bed ever so slightly. Layton shifted, looking over at her with lazy eyes.

"Laurie?"

"I didn't know I'd fallen asleep. How long has it been?"

He reached over to a small night table and checked the alarm clock. "Half after 9."

"Half after? My parents are probably worried sick. I told them I'd be back shortly after dinner, around 8." She threw back the sheet and slid her feet to the floor, holding her arms close about her. Her skin prickled as the cool air enveloped her. "It's so cold…" She rummaged through the dark like a blind beggar, trying to find her dress on the carpet, as Professor Layton pulled a cloak about him. He turned on a small table lamp.

"I'll walk you back and explain," he whispered as she pulled her dress over her head.

"_Explain_? Certainly you don't mean—"

"Well, I'm not telling them the _exact truth_! But I _will_ explain that I got a call from a good friend in need, that this friend desperately needed my presence, and I was unable to walk you back at a decent hour after our study group." Pulling on his pants and shirt, he looked at her. "Isn't that the truth?"

Glowering, Laura pulled her socks on. "With several omissions, undoubtedly. Assuming I'm the 'friend' you mentioned, you saw it as '_desperately needing your presence_'?"

"Well, six to one, half dozen to the other, I suppose…"

Scowling, she raced from the room, descending the stairs as if to escape a house fire. The Professor caught up with her as she was struggling to pull a shoe on one foot, hopping on the other.

"Laurie, it's going to be quite alright. I'm sure they'll understand. I am a professor after all."

"So you use that now to your advantage? No one will suspect the professor, no one will question the professor, is that right? You don't know my parents. They suspect everybody. Even if they serve them goose and pricey wine." She reached for the door's handle when Layton gently turned her head to face him. He kissed her lightly on the lips.

"You shouldn't get so angry over such trivial things."

"This is _not_ trivial. My parents are severely overprotective, and they are _severely_ strict. Now, I need to get back quickly. I can just go back on my own."

"Well, I'm still giving your parents a call to inform them anyway," he stated firmly. "As it stands, I was busy with someone and had to give them my undivided attention. That'll be the story. Yes…"

Laura nodded, scrutinizing him with deep brown eyes. "Uh huh, undivided attention, hmm? Is that what kids are calling 'doing it' nowadays? I must say, it's quite the euphemism…" Ignoring his scorn, she grabbed her messenger bag. "Good enough. Well, er…I'll be off then."

"Um, Laura, you may want to correct your clothing…"

"What's wrong with it?" She stared down at a part of her dress that she didn't often see: the back. "Oh, my word, for Heaven's sake! Don't look at me, turn around!"

Grumbling, she turned her dress around, the Professor chuckling as he walked away to the phone, prepared to make a convincing phone call.

END.

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**Totally lame! Oh well. NEXT CHAPTER PLEASE.**


	20. CHAPTER 20: IT'S NOTHING OR NOTHING

**A shorter chapter. But it's emotion heavy. Hopefully it's conveyed as strongly as I want it to be…**

**Anyway, the climax of this portion of the story. Enjoy.**

**Serving up revenge cold,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 20: IT'S NOTHING OR NOTHING**

"I'll join you girls in a bit. I'm not feeling too well."

Millie, Sarah, and Abigail exchanged glances, ending with a stern expression aimed at Laura.

"Hmm, I wonder why," Millie said airily, mockingly. Her voice trailed off as she and her group of friends exited the classroom quietly without turning to look behind them. Professor Layton was straightening the contents of his briefcase as was typical at the finish of class, but his eyes looked lost, yet not in thought. Laura walked to the front of his desk hurriedly.

"One of the Harrison girls saw me."

"Whatever do you mean, Laurie?" He was putting on his usual scholarly voice, treating her as she was supposed to be and remain being treated: the student. He refrained from looking into her eyes.

"_You know what I mean._ One of them saw me leaving your house, close to 10 o'clock. Word is either Virginia or Meridith was brushing her hair at the bureau near their window, and saw me exit your house, and leave heading west."

He laughed. "Ah, yes. Picking up your assignment that you left, weren't you?"

"_NO ONE IS LISTENING!_" she yelled. "Stop playing ignorant and respond to me, damn it!" The Professor looked into her eyes shrewdly, in scorn over her heightened voice and choice of words.

"Ladies musn't forget their manners, Laura, no matter how frustrated they become."

"Ladies this, ladies that!" She lowered her voice and her head, still eyeing him maliciously. "And _professors_ shouldn't take their students!"

He frowned, hurt. "Don't phrase it that way. I didn't 'take' anything. I gave, and I received. There is no taking involved."

Groaning, Laura hung her head in despair. "You know what I mean…Listen, the point is, one of those brats saw me, and the rumors have increased in their raunchiness, as well as the rate at which they are being spread! Millie's up in arms about it, I'm sure she's gone and told the headmaster. Professor, I'm—"

"Call me Hershel."

"You shouldn't be calling me 'Laurie' in public. And I shouldn't address you by your first name anyway! At least _something_ with 'Layton,' it's really not proper, although…I don't know anymore!"

"Either way, I'm not your professor at all." He snapped his case shut, taking the handle in his hand as she looked at him confused. He appeared distressed and was being curt in his responses.

"What are you talking about? Classes aren't finished."

"They are soon. I talked to the headmaster and I'm leaving two weeks early. Your last weeks of class are supplemented with readings, and your final is going to the newest archaeological exhibit at the museum. Your academic excellence as a class is sufficient to spare you all a test or a paper, and I vouched for this."

"But—none of this makes any sense!" She ran around the desk and stood in full view in front of him as he pulled on his brown jacket. "You told me I'm doing terrible in class!"

"It served as a façade."

"Well, you can't just get up and leave like that!"

"I can due to a personal situation that requires me to get back to London as soon as possible. I stressed the importance of this and explained the situation to the headmaster."

"You…what did you tell her? What happened back in London?"

"That one of my dearest friends has been taken ill with a bout of depression and needs my immediate attention, lest that he continue to decline and suffer mentally." He started towards the door. "Laura, please come to my house after classes for a bit of tea, won't you?"

"Answer me now! What is the meaning of this? That sounds like the stupid story you came up with yesterday for my parents!" she shouted, tears starting at the corners of her eyes. She could tell he wasn't being straight with her. His shoddy explanation was laced with code.

"Tea should calm you down a bit. Please stop by later." He gently pushed past her without looking at her or saying good bye.

She looked at her feet, feeling, for the first time, sick about going to the Professor's house for tea. Everything was happening so fast, she couldn't concentrate. She didn't want to finish the day's classes. Not wanting to attract any more attention or to start any more rumors, she collected herself and hurried to the washroom, staring at herself in front of a mirror until her next class started.

Struggling to sit still during English Composition, Laura finally was able to leave the campus and make off towards the Professor's house. She made sure to be careful in not collecting any curious busy-bodies, checking behind her excessively during her trek. In record time she was already crossing the expanse of familiar green lawn and climbing the cement porch steps. She knocked and waited, wooden floorboards creaking as she anxiously swayed back and forth on the heels of her feet. Layton appeared at the door's windows. He smiled and removed the locks to the door.

She stepped inside. "Your smile isn't convincing."

"It'll have to do for now." He sat down heavily in his favorite chair. Some papers were scattered haphazardly over the top of the coffee table. Nothing new. "Please," he said, motioning towards a chair. She sat down. "I didn't want to mention it to you at the school, but it slipped. I'll be more detailed now, but…"

"You aren't leaving for another person," she interrupted. "_You_ are the one, the dearest friend, that you spoke of."

He shook his head, chuckling. "Admittedly, your cleverness is one of the many reasons I fell for you."

"It's true then!" she shouted, almost hysterically. Layton looked at her quizzically. "I wasn't one-hundred percent sure."

"Still, a clever guess, and a clever method of getting the information out of me. Indeed, I am leaving for myself. Let me explain why. Tea?" She shook her head, not to be distracted. He sighed. "Laurie, this can't continue."

"What?"

"Us. There is no proper way to get around it, there is no proper way to excuse it. I'm at a loss, as I told you before." He sipped his tea as Laura snorted.

"I don't mind faking it, keeping quiet, in public. It's no problem."

"We can't hide it forever. And even if we did, I wouldn't be able to put up with the mental strain of it, what with all the—" He gasped as Laura's hand heavily collided with his cheek. He didn't even notice the spot of scalding tea that spilled from his cup and onto the thigh of his pants. Blinking, he stared incredulously up at the girl now standing in front of him. He was half in awe that he was just slapped, half in confusion as to _why_. "L-Laurie?"

"Mental strain? _Mental strain_? You lead me on, all this time—"

"Laurie, I never led you…"

"—spend valuable time with me, talking and doing things completely not class related—"

"And I wouldn't trade it for anything…Laurie, listen to me—"

"—become the only friend I've ever had, make love to me, confess everything you've kept quiet for all these months—"

"—please, just—"

"—and you don't even understand what that meant to me, and now you're admitting everything was basically _fake_, since it doesn't mean anything to you, to just give it all up, and—"

"And it all _meant_ something to me and it always will!" he bellowed, standing up and sending his tea cup tumbling to the floor. Laura stopped a moment, bewildered that he could muster such a loud voice. Had their emotions not been running rampant, she would have found it comical, but she quickly ignored it for the time being. She started in again.

"You take everything I have to give you—" Her voice began faltering.

"And I wouldn't ever want to receive it from anyone else!" He gripped her shoulders tightly, staring into her eyes with a ferocity he hadn't ever shown before.

"—and then you're just going to…leave me?" She broke away from his gaze, feeling her tears spill over her eyelids. "You just, just-! I…I can't even believe it! I feel so _betrayed_… It's like you never really understood after all… You really didn't understand, the entire time. What was the point of last night then?"

"LAURIE." He pulled her to him, holding her close, trying to still each sob that racked her body. "Don't assume that it's been for naught. There is nobody on this earth to compare with you. In all these years I've been alive, no one has affected me the way you have. You've opened up a part of me I never knew existed. You made me feel completely human." He held her away from him for a moment, looking into her red face. "I have had the makings of an academic from an early age, and you gave me reason to believe there's more than knowledge and smarts to this life. What's the use if I can't share those things as I have with you? It's not merely standing at the front of a classroom, connecting with students on the surface. It's not all about my goals, my pursuits, my achievements. I have fully embraced the meaning of the word 'intimate'."

She swallowed painfully. "And you're just casting it aside, leaving me to return to life as usual! This isn't fair, you get to run away and leave me broken! You shouldn't have told me anything! Just let it all die, that's what you should have done! You get to run away…"

"No, I'm not. Laurie, this was doomed from the start, you must realize this. I can't hide myself from society. If our secret is brought into the light, we will be driven out from life as we know it, or, life as we _knew_ it. Outcasts, that's what we'll become. We can't be having this sort of relationship, it's just not…It's just not acceptable. And—"

"You're choosing society over me! I can't bear to leave you, yet you are choosing your previous life! You're choosing your stupid rocks! I've lost to a bunch of broken ruins and the occasional newspaper fame! I'm such a disgrace!"

He shook his head, taking each comment as a mental and physical blow. His stomach was empty, his heart barely finding the energy to pump. "No, I'm choosing what I know is the only feasible option. At this stage, there is no possible way to continue being with each other. It's a bit too late, but I can't take back anything now. I can't keep living in fear whether someone is stumbling onto my property, starting a rumor, listening to what we say. I can't marry you, I can't make love to you in fear of you becoming pregnant, or someone, _somehow_, finding out about it. Laurie, please believe me. It's destroying a huge part of me to give you up. But…"

"But?" She sneered menacingly. "Don't you think it's a bit late for 'but's?"

"But in order to keep your life in order, have you continue your dreams…"

"I don't have any more dreams!" she screamed, tearing her fingers into the front of his oxford, wrinkling the fabric as she gripped the shirt tightly. "I can't have dreams if you aren't involved in them! Hershel, please! Don't leave me with them!" She sobbed heavily, hiccupping several times before collecting her voice again. The professor ran his hands through her hair. "I can't stay at home. I can't handle them, I can't handle the girls at school, I'm tired of it! You are the one who is for _certain_ giving me up, but not in the genial way you are making it seem! You aren't doing me a service, it's just awful! You aren't even trying! How could you do all those things to me yesterday, and just walk away? It's just cruel! You used me! Why'd you even say anything to me?" She started sobbing again.

"I didn't use you. It really did mean the world to me."

"Well, it means a _lot_ more to me than just the stupid world. A _lot_ more. You can't just have your way with someone and then walk away! It's supposed to mean something! You're supposed to _stay_! You _lied!_"

"I did not _lie_, would you stop accusing—"

"I looked at you _straight in the eyes_, Hershel, and asked you if this had even the slightest risk of not working, and you made me feel it was real, that there was nothing to worry about. You were so confident it'd work. I trusted you! That's the only reason I felt comfortable, allowed myself to…to have sex with you. I had no intention of going any other path unless it was alongside you, and now here you are doing the exact opposite of the man I was with last night! That's lying!"

She slowly felt herself melting away, as if her sanity was draining, being siphoned off. The cruelty of it, the regret filled her mind until it was all that was contained. She wished she'd only done the bare minimum of the coursework, never went to that damned office for help, never tried on the puzzles, never developed any sort of feelings for the man now standing in front of her, downtrodden and without an answer other than the negative one she didn't want to hear. She felt stupid, miserable, and hopeless.

The Professor blinked, wishing he'd wake up from whatever strange dream he was currently experiencing. "There is no other way. Do you think I'm enjoying this? Do you _honestly_ think I'm enjoying this? I'm going to London and I'm staying out of the educational scene for quite some time."

Laura wiped her eyes. "You can't just give up your career like that."

"I'll merely research and write to advance in my field. I have no other drive right now. It's the most logical decision."

"Take me to London with you. I'm of age. Please." She looked at him with begging eyes, pleading black orbs trying to mesmerize, her last resort. "Just please."

"You know I can't do that, it would be the same situation, just in my flat." He brushed her hair from her face. "Laurie, I'll never be able to view another woman as I have you. You are the only person I've been able to connect with on this level. My only regret is…" He stopped, freezing everything except for slow breathing.

"You wish I was older." His silence told her all she needed to know. The fact of a silly number of years she had been breathing, eating, wasting, growing on the planet was destroying, decimating her emotions, tearing her apart from the inside out. Who cared how old she was? She found a place on the wall for her eyes to focus on. The truth was with her from the beginning, but she thought she could evade it. It all crashed into place, rationality returning. She still felt ruined, mocked. She'd have rather him never admit to anything after all, just let it all die, let it all fade, blend into the elysium of wherever aborted ideas, feelings, thoughts, and desires go to degrade.

She stared at the ceiling. "There's no other way then. You're saving your career. I've been so, so stupid. For once, I wish I hadn't let my emotions consume me…"

"Please don't expect me in class tomorrow. I'll be returning to London sometime soon, permanently, but I'm ending teaching at Grissom's now."

She nodded, smiling, crazed. "And that's all you have to say. Heh heh heh…hee hee, ha ha ha ha! I love how you keep evading my questions, my comments! You just keep talking all matter of factly, like you're dictating lessons to me." He looked at her, searching for an answer.

"What more could I have said?"

She felt like she couldn't even stand in his house anymore. She didn't know him. "You disgust me."

"Laurie, please, don't—"

"Do _NOT_ call me 'Laurie'," she hissed maliciously.

"Lauri—Laura, please, I'm sorry but—"

"I'm going now."

Layton frowned at her. "I suppose I can't request for you to stay a bit longer? I'd like a few minutes to say goodbye properly." She rubbed her eyes once more, stepping away from him.

"To say goodbye _properly_? Properly? How could you possibly say goodbye 'properly'? Like to have a go at me again, would you? Is that it?"

"Laura, how could you! I would _never_ treat you like—"

"You've already proven to me you have no social sense."

"Laura, I mean I want to at least give you a heartfelt farewell."

"You already have. Heartfelt. Yes. It has been a pleasure—"

"Laurie…please…"

"—a pleasure meeting you." Her voice faltered and rose in pitch. "I've enjoyed every minute with you, Professor. I've learned so much. I…I will miss you terribly. Every day of my life. Every moment. I will miss our talks, challenges, walks around the yard, passings at the grocery, evenings in town. Whatever stupid things we did together."

"When you say it like that, it's as if…"

"I'm not expecting to see you again, so I hope you do well. I won't hope to meet you again, but perhaps someday, chance will treat us more kindly. If that would be kindness." She snorted and laughed again, this time a bit rancorously.

Layton felt tears in his eyes, something he didn't experience often, yet his relationship with Laura caused many reactions and emotions he never knew he had. Here he was, denying himself the perfect companion. No, it was society. Society wasn't allowing him to keep a stable career as well as be in love with this young woman, to the brim with wisdom, logic, and wit. Society wasn't allowing him to protect her, touch her, call her beautiful. He was a pervert, a scoundrel, a disgusting member of society, cast out. He sniffed.

"Damn it all…"

"So, before it gets too dark, I should be going, Professor."

"Please, Laurie. Call me Hershel…please…"

"And I have a bit of advice for you." Without effort, she stared at him with a malevolence that would have destroyed a normal man's resolve, her eyes boring into his inner core. "Don't ever treat anyone the way you've treated me. If anything drills gentlemanly conduct into your skull, let it be this situation. You're lucky I've retained a shred of rationality during all this. Otherwise… Well, I'll leave it at that."

"Laurie, I—"

"Goodbye. I'll remember you always. Perhaps fondly, perhaps not."

She pulled tightly with two hands at the necklace about her neck, grinding her teeth together as the chain cut into her skin. She gasped as the chain finally tore apart, and she forced the locket into his hands, never looking up at him, never looking in front of herself, never seeing the door, never seeing the steps, the lawn, the trees, the sidewalk. She raced down the street, not even bothering to hold up her dress so that it didn't catch on her knees, not bothering to wipe the blotches of tears that clouded her eyes. She had never run faster, even in physical education. It was a speed she'd reserved for escape from abduction, injury, thieves…

Professor Layton stood coughing from his porch, tear-stained face peering into the dusk. Laura turned at the corner of the street, and was gone.

END.

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**Now, onward to bigger and better things. Not.**

**THIS CONCLUDES THE FIRST PORTION OF THIS STORY. PLEASE REVIEW!**


	21. CHAPTER 21: GIFT RECEIPT

**Haha, don't worry. It's not as sad as the last chapter….**

**Eating only the green M&M's,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 21: GIFT RECEIPT**

**Present Day**

**Outdoor Patio at Dilliam's Ice Cream Parlor, downtown London**

"Ten years." Laura stirred her tea in its cup, metal spoon tinkling against the sides of the porcelain multiple times. Her eyes burnt into the tired man in front of her. "Ten years, Professor."

"_Laurie_…" Professor Layton growled. "Please call me by my first name."

"You want me to be close by calling you by your first name, yet you don't feel close enough to keep me by your side. And for ten years…_Hershel_." She chided him with her eyes. "That's a long time to think. A whole decade!"

He emptied his cup and sat back in his seat. Cars and trucks rolled past the small patio, leaving fumes behind. Sighing, he looked at the curb as the waitress came by with more tea. "It is."

"Hm?"

"It's a long time to think, indeed. A long time to recollect, reposition, reform opinions…"

She placed her cup on the dish. "I must be honest, I never did much care for tea."

"How did you move on?" He asked the question, but didn't want to hear the answer. It was painful enough having to face the girl in front of him once more, the girl he thought he would never see again.

"Move on? Whatever do you mean? Oh, you mean get over you? Well, I met more men. Ones who swore to never leave me. Ones who promised quite a bit of dowry, to be frank." She smiled mischievously at Layton's face, drained of color and complemented with dour eyes.

"I see."

"Ha ha ha! You're quite the gullible man, aren't you, Hershel? Aren't you supposed to be clever?"

"You've become quite sarcastic, Laurie…"

"I've always been sarcastic. I just rarely showed it."

"Not towards me. You've sharpened your blades, it seems, over these past ten years."

"Oh, sure I did. What else does one do after…well, what else can one do for ten long years, but cling to shreds of sanity, and feed tirelessly on the stupidity of others? But I've gotten bored," came the low mumbling of a voice from one once willing to spar, willing to engage in a battle of wits. The joy was dead. Anything clever, or at least mimicking wit, was only meant to cause pain, meant to draw mental blood. The Professor could taste it, her bitterness. Her eyes were devoid of any mirth, any energy, instead replaced with a vengeful spirit.

Layton sighed. "Bored?"

"Oh yes. Well, continuing on, my parents _forced_ me to be courted after my first year of college. I never let them on about us, Hershel, so don't worry. For a while I could get out of any romantic ventures, but eventually I had to give in. Unless I wanted my education to end. So I saw a Michael, two Johns, a Quincy, a Seamus, and a Leonard—all in one summer!—before making my parents feel like they would never get a sum out of me. They wanted me to find some rich man, you see. But…I made myself undesirable, as they described it. What they didn't know was that I had been saving up to pay them off, equivalent to whatever those pretty boys were going to pacify them with." Folding her arms and leaning them on the table, she smiled, genuinely. "Impressed?"

"I'm sure those fine men weren't horrible."

"They weren't my type. Expected me to be an idiot, which they soon found out I wasn't. I have no qualms about staying home, cooking, cleaning, whatever it is that women typically do. But I don't want my husband thinking I'm so dull that I can't figure out he's shooting the breeze and more with Mary down the street after his work is over. So. 'Fine' is hardly the way to describe them."

The Professor let out a low chuckle. "I suppose I should trust your judgment better than any."

"That you should. I take it you kept your nose out of…how did you call it all those years ago, the educational 'scene'?"

"Indeed. I assumed you did quite the same! I never heard any more about your engineering pursuits—"

"You're a liar."

He looked at her quizzically, taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"Do I look stupid? You immediately became a full blown professor at Gressenheller. It was in all the papers. World famous Layton, Gressenheller's youngest professor ever. You moved back to London. You got your career. You got to continue life as you knew it."

"Well, that—"

"_That_…is the truth. Hee hee. Thought you'd slip one over on me, did you?" she laughed.

Layton adjusted his hat. "I never went back to Grissom's though. I…couldn't."

"Fair enough. But congratulations. I'm sure it's much better than assistant professor at some stuffy girl's college, going back and forth between University and whatnot."

"In some ways, yes. Others, well, no," he muttered, unwilling to go into his own personal history for the past ten years. He felt as if none of it mattered at the moment. Time was somehow at a standstill, as if he wanted to believe that the girl in front of him never left, as if times were pleasant once again. However, her sullen face told him otherwise, no matter how much he wanted to straighten things out. "But, as for yourself? Continue."

"Oh what a bother, why do you _care_? I kept my distance! Purposefully! I never wanted to see your face again. I still don't. I wanted to make myself believe you were a dream that I had woken up from a long time ago, and the dregs of sleep were merely still trying to cling to my subconscious. Needless to say, I rarely visited London."

Layton looked into his tea cup, deciding that its contents had gotten too cold to enjoy. "Look, you weren't…the only one suffering, although perhaps my sufferings weren't anywhere near the level of yours."

"Maybe, maybe not. Not that I care." She stopped suddenly, glancing at a clock on the side of a building. The Professor knit his eyebrows, curiosity piqued. "If I may make a request…"

He looked at her, interested further. "Anything."

"We should leave now. Take this somewhere else. Do you have a flat?"

"Well, yes, but, what is—" Laura put a finger to her lips, cutting him short.

"Short explanation: I'm being heavily monitored. This was originally supposed to be recorded."

"What?"

"But I disabled that little feature. Idiots didn't know I've taught myself a thing or two about electronics." She smiled as she pointed to a little device that appeared at first glance to be a watch.

Layton gripped the arms of his chair, indignant. "Now see here, what is the meaning of this? Monitored? A recording?"

"Relax, or this will be for naught." She grabbed the large envelope that had been sitting on the table in front of her, and placed a payment on the table. "This is actually my establishment, but I still pay."

"Your establishment? You own this shop?"

"Down to the last bite of ice cream." She smiled. "Do you enjoy it as much as that place on the beach?"

"I didn't actually eat any ice cream but—"

"Now then, show me to your flat, and don't bring this up again until we're safe from prying eyes," she interrupted, obviously not interested in his answers. "Oh, and lose the hat for the walk."

He furrowed his brow. "I can't do that," he said sulkily.

"Oh? It's not like it's the original one, the one I got you," she said sarcastically. "Did you get too upset about that, and buy another? The coloring is different."

"That's a story for later. Quickly, is it really necessary?"

"It is. If you value your life, you'll do it. Losing faith in my judgment so soon, are we?"

Disgruntled, he removed his hat, growling under his breath. "If it's really required…"

"Although, with that choice of jacket, perhaps you won't be mistaken for the famous Hershel Layton anyway. You look like an old woman. And with that grimace, a cantankerous one at that. A shadow of the cheerful genius professor, solving puzzles wherever he goes!"

He glanced down his front, shocked. "It's….Rosa's gardening jacket…"

"Oh, so she's still cleaning up your slop? Wow, I'll be sure to harass you some more later. For now, less talk, more walk." She popped open an umbrella and handed it to him. "Walk home as you normally would. I'll follow behind closely."

"What in the world…?" The Professor hid himself under the umbrella as much as possible, scowling as he made the trek back home. "It's not even raining!"

"_It will be_," she hissed, a couple of metres behind. "Can't you predict even imminent weather? Now shut it and get a move on, old man—or should I say old woman!—if you know what's good for you."

Sure enough, small droplets of water started to scatter across the sidewalk, pelting the umbrella loudly. He rolled his eyes, uncharacteristically perturbed.

'_This had better have a decent explanation! Especially the bit about being an 'old man'!_'

END.

* * *

**Well, he _is_ kinda old now. 37-38 ish. Lolz. OLD.**


	22. CHAPTER 22: WORDS TO LIVE BY

**I love turning Layton into a JERK, which in turn, makes ME a jerk as well. :)**

**Oh goodness gracious….not much in this chapter. Just transition stuff. I'm trying to find padding for the main plot of this story. I don't want to just come out and BAM! It's all done. I suppose I fail at writing then! Oh well!**

**Abstaining from meat on Fridays,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 22: WORDS TO LIVE BY**

The flat was spotless and smelled like lemons and mint upon the Professor's return. Layton hung the maid's jacket and removed his loafers gruffly, impatiently waiting for Laura to come up the outside stairs.

"Professor, is that you?" Luke raced out of the kitchen, wearing an oversized apron. "You're back! You took so long, I had to find something to do, so I cleaned everything."

"I can tell, or should I say, smell." Luke laughed just as Laura stumbled through the open front door and slammed it shut. He choked on his own giggles and stepped back in surprise.

"Hey, you can't just barge into people's homes! State your business!"

The Professor grumpily hushed Luke. "Luke, she's supposed to be here. This is a former student of mine, Laura Haris. She has some information for me. Laura, this is Luke, my assistant."

She looked at the little boy fondly, smiling warmly. Layton noticed it was the most happy and genuine face that she sported since he first found her at the ice cream parlor.

"Pleased to meet you Luke. Assistant to this bloke? I feel sorry for you." Luke eyed her curiously, a look of hurt on his face after her insults to the Professor. "I don't think you remember me, but we've actually met, although indirectly." She reached into a pocket of her jacket and pulled out a receipt from Dilliam's. She held it in front of her and read it aloud as if it were a decree to some townspeople. "Total of £3, paid in full?"

Luke gasped, his angry expression melting away in an instant. He stared at the girl in front of him as if she were a mythological creature that wasn't supposed to exist, but certainly did. "You…you're the one who paid for me! And…you're the link! All those entries mentioned on that strange blank paper! It was you!" He scratched his head. "Well, I…I always thought you were a child. I've seen you in the parlor many times since then, but I didn't know you were…you! I thought you were just any other customer."

"Actually, she is the owner, Luke…" Layton walked to the kitchen, starting up a kettle.

"No way! Dilliam's is yours?"

"Well, half mine. I've invested in it, but I don't work there or help make business decisions." She smiled again. "Do you like the ice cream parlor? I always want to know from the customers how it is doing. Children are very special to me."

Luke blushed. "I'm not so special myself, although I can talk with animals and I help the Professor with all his adventures! We've solved a couple of mysteries together."

"So I hear!"

Luke turned to the kitchen, a broad, toothy grin stretched across his cheeks. "You hear that, Professor? Laura knows about us! Well, us solving some things and all…"

"Hmm, yes." He nodded, annoyed, finishing up making a brew of tea. "Luke, do we have anything simple to throw together for dinner?"

"I'm on it!" Luke ran to the refrigerator, grabbing several containers and placing them on the counter. "Is Miss Haris joining us for dinner?"

"I'll be in the front room," said Layton, blatantly ignoring the question and setting two tea cups on a tray. "Let me know if you need help."

The Professor held the tray out to Laura before setting it on a small coffee table in the sitting room. Laura grimaced as she looked into the scalding hot tea, steaming from the top.

"You force him to play maid and chef?" she laughed. "Poor boy. Where are his parents?"

The Professor motioned to a chair for her to sit in. She clumsily took a few steps before sitting down, her knees bending stiffly. "Are…you alright?" he asked cautiously, a tone of concern in his voice.

She balanced her cup on her lap, smiling into it. "Oh, yes. I'm fine. I just walk a bit stiff, is all. My knees aren't what they used to be, that's for sure."

Possibilities ran through his mind. He didn't notice her walking so awkwardly before, but…then again, she _did_ tell him to walk ahead; he actually never _saw_ her walking behind him. "Well, I noticed you stumble through the door as well. I thought you only tripped on the welcome mat, but—"

"I got into an accident years ago. My stiff walking is a result of my injuries."

Layton's eyes widened, brow furrowed. "An accident? What sort of accident?"

"Car accident. Both legs broken, bones sticking out, and I had a bit of whiplash. I never really _fully_ recovered. I haven't really ever been the same since."

The Professor sat his cup down on the table. "My God, Laurie, I never knew-"

"I spent almost a year in and out of the hospital, it was pretty nasty."

"I don't remember any major car accidents, when was it?"

"November. Of the same year you ruined my life. Quite some time ago."

The Professor sat in silence, not even bothering to process her negative comment. Then he gasped.

"Ah! That accident on Emerson Street, right before Main, with the odd crossroads?"

"At Lake and Palmer? Yeah, that's the one! You read your London Times, don't you, Hershel!" She laughed airily, glancing to the side, mentally distracted. "One of the few times I actually went to London, and I get into a bloody accident. One that made world news too! No anesthetic could have cured my pain. I laid there for what seemed like eons, smashed between a car door and a lory wheel. Surprised I escaped with what I did. The taxi driver died instantly. Do you know what a shattered skull looks like, Hershel?"

Layton closed his eyes. "My God…"

"I felt like I'd lost all my blood, and at the very least, it _looked_ that way. Ribs sticking out—", the Professor made a sound of disgust, "—my legs were bent the other way at the knee. Glorious sight, really, seeing your legs bent the wrong way. My parents were in a fit, finding out I was in hospital. Of course, I was too loopy to think at the time. And that was about a week later, when I was coherent enough to pay attention to anything. Drugged up real good, I guess I really was passed out for quite a time, until my numbers were balanced.

And when I finally came to, I didn't have enough pain reducers to kill the pain. Worst sensation I ever felt. And I hadn't emotionally recovered either." She stared blankly at the astonished man in front of her. "No one there at _my_ side, except a selfish set of parents, telling me infinite times how I am to remain indoors until further notice, how I would have robbed them of their future if I'd died. I had no ability to refute. I might as well have been dying, the way I felt."

"And…your recovery?"

"Comparably, it was actually quite short, if you'll believe it, even though it still took around a year. I was bound and determined to prove to everyone I wasn't some small, frail girl, destroyed by an accident. They told me I'd never walk again, I told them that was bollocks. But…that doesn't mean I was optimistic. I was, how did my mother put it, oh, _bitter as hell_? Yeah, that was it. Bitter as hell. But it carried me through. I found a reason for anger."

"I really don't know what to say… I just can't believe that it was you in that accident." He shook his head, looking into his tea cup. "Yes, now I remember. That was on the news for quite some time. I think 20 were killed at the scene, 35 altogether, as some didn't survive the injuries."

"Well, it's over, so there's nothing to say, really." She looked into space beyond the professor's shoulder. "Toughest twelve months of my life. I wasn't supposed to walk again, you know."

"So you've said. Considering that, you're very lucky to be able to walk then, even stiffly." He began sipping his cup slowly, slightly annoyed the tea had gotten cold, but more irritated at his discomfort about the situation. He wanted to sympathize, and he did to an extent. But the awkwardness of meeting someone again after 10 years, given their history together…it was almost too hard to wrap one's mind around. "I'm…very sorry that you had to endure that."

"I hardly recall it anymore, it's been too long ago now."

He shook himself out of thoughts of what it looked like to be smashed in a gruesome accident, close to fainting from blood loss and trauma, and sat his cup on the table. "Well, not to change the subject so hastily, but I really don't think it's productive nor beneficial to dwell on such an emotional subject… As for Luke. It's not through force, you know; the boy wants to learn how to be a true English gentleman. It's a discipline. Who am I to stop him? He's eager to learn how to mature. As for his parents, they live in a small town called Misthallery. They've put him in my care, a sort of apprenticeship, if you will. His father is a good friend of mine."

"Ah, I see. The man can't parent himself? Understandable. Neither could mine."

"That's…not the case," Layton said testily. "His father is a good friend of mine, as I said, and the boy took to me, after a situation in his hometown. It's a long story, but…"

"You seem to be _full_ of long stories, as you said that earlier as well! Do tell us one. Why is your hat different? I'm curious." She folded her hands, as if being polite, but he could tell she was being cheeky.

"I do believe it's really none of your—" A smoke alarm rang out, the shrill beeping cutting off his retort.

"Professor! Help! I think the chicken is on fire!"

"You _think_?"

After several flustered comments from the Professor, they all finally sat for dinner. Laura laughed heartily as she looked upon the meal Luke presented at the small dining room table.

"A nice fired up hen we have here. She's rather charred, isn't she?" Laura picked at the crisped and burnt chicken at the center of the table, placing the piece she managed to pry off into her mouth. Luke squirmed as he waited for her reaction. "It still tastes wonderful, Luke. A fine job you've done, despite the blackened parts…"

The boy smiled, his round cheeks flushing pink. "You think so? It's actually only my third time making dinner for the Professor. I guess I got nervous, with a guest here."

"It's excellent, I wholeheartedly approve. I actually like that burnt taste."

The Professor remained silent throughout the meal, chewing apprehensively each time he placed a bit of the badly crisped bird on his tongue. He grimaced in disgust, the blackened bits too bitter for his liking, but he wouldn't dream of telling the boy that.

He watched as Luke opened up like a sail in the wind, his questions and comments darting from one topic of interest to another. It was as if he had forgotten the Professor entirely, as he only directed his attention to Laura. Were she not present, the Professor wouldn't have anything to bother about. But the situation had lent itself to worry. Laura lit up and smiled benignly for Luke, as if it were he she had come for, not the man left behind ten years ago. Not that he blamed her…

She asked as many questions as Luke, each time learning more and more about the young apprentice, more than Layton knew himself, or had even thought to ask about in the first place. Perhaps he really wasn't giving him the attention he needed, Layton wondered. He grumbled quietly to himself.

'_What's her agenda, anyway?_'

Swallowing a particularly dry piece of the main entrée, he downed a splash of water and cleared his throat.

"Say, Luke, you're so talkative now as opposed to any other night at dinner." He smiled warmly, hoping his tone didn't give off his inner feelings: overly perturbed. "I can barely get a sentence out of you half of the time!"

Luke's eyes darted about the room as he rubbed his hands together nervously. "Well, Professor, sometimes I…well… It's not really something I can just come out and say, can I?"

"Go ahead, Luke. A gentleman is always honest."

"Well, if you insist… Then, quite honestly, sometimes it's just too hard to talk with you, Professor! Sometimes, I just don't understand what you go on about, and I don't think you'd understand the things I wonder about all day long either. Rather, I don't think you'd _appreciate_ them, so… Perhaps when I'm a real gentleman we can have deeper manly conversations!" The boy stuffed his hands in his lap and looked at the edge of his plate, face red. Laura burst into laughter, unable to control herself.

The Professor didn't want to catch her expression, but it was too difficult to avoid, as Laura was already giving him a look of sarcastic achievement, a look that said, "Checkmate". She stifled another round of laughter.

"It's quite alright, Luke. If he's anything like how I remember him, he only goes on about dust and rocks all day long anyway. If you can make it out of an archaeological lecture unscathed, you're truly a master!"

"Oh yes, the audience is _dying_ from laughter, Laura." Layton stood up quickly, empty plate in hand, his chair noisily scudding against the floor. "Truly, a natural comedian."

"Oh, I think I know why he's a bit cranky," Luke whispered as the Professor walked away without another word. "You see, he was supposed to present a research paper to the Dean the other day, but he was late to his appointment because his keys were locked in his office! He couldn't get in for a whole hour! I think one of his students did it on purpose…"

"You don't say? We'd have never done that, back when I was in school," Laura exclaimed in surprise. "Even if he is a boring old archaeologist…"

"Surely, I don't need to remind you that I'm right here in the other room!" they heard the Professor shout from the kitchen, a loud clang sounding as dishes were sat heavily into the sink. The two still seated at the table looked at one another, chancing a stifled giggle. "Old or not, I don't require hearing aids!"

"How should I know?" Laura yelled back, unable to let an opportunity for sarcasm to pass by. "I thought your sight was failing back at the parlor, what with that gaudy jacket and all!" Laura shook her head as Luke laughed out at her comment. "Perhaps I'll give him a break. I don't think he's in the mood to keep up with my pithy comments and comebacks."

Layton huffed back into the dining area. "If you two have finished with your fun, I'd quite like to have a bit of peace and quiet. I need to look through my lesson for tomorrow. Luke, you should read a bit before the evening comes to a close."

And with that, he marched into his study.

"Whoop, there goes your last checker. I win."

Luke groaned as Laura jumped his last piece. He followed her lead and helped put the checker pieces and board away. "I really can't beat a soul at this game!"

"There, there. Practice makes perfect. It really does."

The boy slumped back into the faded couch, stewing a moment before his typical energy returned. "Say, Laura, when were you the Professor's student? You don't look very old at all! How old are you anyway?"

She sat back in her seat, stretching her arms over her head. "Don't you know you aren't supposed to ask a woman her age?" She laughed at the boy's worried expression. "While that _is _true, it's quite alright with me. Well, let's see. I was in his elective archaeology course back when he was still only an assistant professor. See, he had to commute between London and my hometown back then. I went to a college called Grissom's."

"Oh yes, I've heard of that school," Luke said knowingly, nodding his head. "My mum actually went there!"

"What a coincidence! She must be really smart! Not to toot my own horn, but can't be a Neanderthal and go there. Unless you have rich relatives on the school board…but I digress. Yes, he taught a course there, and some other courses over at Gressenheller. That was 10 years ago."

"Ten? You don't look much older than I am!" the boy yelled, eyes wide. "That would make you around—"

"I'm 28," she said with a thin smile. "Way past your age, and…isn't it also way past your bedtime, Luke?"

Luke laughed, as if her question was absurd. "A young man like me doesn't require a bedtime! I go to bed when—"

"—I tell you, Luke," Professor Layton interrupted, placing a fresh pot of tea at the small coffee table. "Why don't you run off and get yourself ready for bed now? You can talk to Laura some more in the morning."

Luke stood up, a curious look on his face. "Laura's still going to be here?"

"I can only assume so, given the circumstances." He grabbed the boy's shoulders and gently prodded him towards the hallway, leading to the bedrooms. "Now go clean up."

With a small prance down the hall, Luke shouted behind him. "Good night, Professor! Good night, Laura!"

"Really now, you should call her Miss…oh nevermind." The Professor shook his head as the boy slammed the bathroom door. "Some days, he retains everything, others…it's in one ear, out the other. Children…"

"No, males," Laura corrected matter of factly, as if oblivious to the probability that her comment would spark controversy. "I've never met one that would listen to reason."

Trying with all his might to suppress a scowl, Layton sighed, annoyed. "Are we going to be able to have a civil conversation, without your bitterness? I'm eager to listen to you, but I've about had enough of your tone and your comments," he said, a small growl in his throat.

She scoffed. "My, my, who do you think you are, my teacher? And such a tone, someone's gotten snappish! Have I said anything that wasn't true this evening?"

"No, but everything is sarcastic and cynical!" he said exasperatedly, his pitch rising. "I want to converse with the old you, the Laurie that could find it in her to be witty and sharp, but with good taste. The Laurie that—"

"—that was used and abandoned?" she said venomously, barely above a whisper. The Professor stared at her quietly, his heart beat escalating for second. It was the same face she gave him years ago, in the middle of his living room, before she ran away, presumably forever. It was an icy expression, yet hot with fury. The same feelings that he felt then passed through him now, triggering bitter and morose memories he'd finally been able to cache away after some time. Now, they were unceremoniously dug up to be experienced once more. In a strange way, he almost felt scared, but wasn't sure why.

"Oh, that Laurie," she continued. "I'm afraid she passed away, years ago. Too much anxiety, too many nonsensical things going on. There wasn't a reason to stay like that. She became tired of it all. The Laurie now, won't put up with such rubbish. Not that the old one would, but…let's just say that now, you won't get away with it scot-free."

Layton sat for a moment, boring his gaze into hers. He refused to believe that she was wholehearted in her comments, but at the same time, he knew she was still hurting, and he didn't want to trivialize her feelings by passing off her jibs as melodramatic. At the moment, he felt guilt, a tremendous guilt, one that hadn't hit him all those years and had waited until the current moment. Or perhaps, he had merely closed off that part of him, leaving it to the faded dust of the past… It was the realization that he'd unintentionally murdered someone years ago, yet had spent those years missing the victim, pining for them subconsciously, now regretting the moments lost during the gap of time that had passed. There was no closure, there was no easy fix. He'd just have to sulk in it until he was purified of his sins, if that time would come.

"Laurie, I know you are hurting, but please. Please find it in you to just talk, just…_chat_, if you will. We need to take this one step at a time. I'm not trivializing anything, especially not your feelings, but let's put our…past behind us for the brief moment we'll be talking tonight, and cut to the chase." He removed his hat. "First off, I want to make this as concise and quick as possible, as I don't want Luke involved, in any of our business. The boy tries to solve and do too much already. He's eager to please, eager to help, and I don't want to cause him unnecessary stress. If you can't do it for me, at least do it for him." He leaned forward, a change passing across his face. Laura glanced up at him smiling his trademark smile. "I know you already care for him. I can see it in your eyes. It's the only time you were pleasant this evening, being around him. And…the real you peeked from the shadows a bit."

If she wasn't so jaded already, she'd have to energy to ignore the swarm of nervous ants crawling through her skin, the brief skip in her breathing. Looking down at the teacup set out for her, she couldn't help but break out a grin. "I…hate your smile. So much. But… I can't tell you how much I missed it. I suppose I only realize that now."

"That's all you've missed?"

"Just pull out the chaise lounge and ink blots, why don't you!" she laughed. "Don't get too comfortable, I'm not willing to play counselor and dump out my feelings just yet. All I'm saying is, your smile caused me so much grief before, but it still was the most comforting thing that I can remember about you. It spoke volumes. Not that anything in them was true, but… Okay, okay, for now, I'll cap my feelings. But I won't let you forget about them."

"That's fair enough," he muttered, pouring himself more tea. "I wouldn't forget them even if you wanted me to."

Scowling, she pushed her cup away. "Don't you have anything cold? I really can't stand this hot stuff…"

"As picky as ever! Some things don't change…" He went to the kitchen and returned with a few ice cubes. "How about this?"

"It will do. For the sake of time, as it is, well…what, 10 o'clock? I'm not an early sleeper, but I'm a bit tired from travel."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I was doing a bit of travelling a few days ago. I haven't adjusted as well as I usually do. Pity, really. I had my conversation all planned out for you too." She smiled, not bothering with hiding a natural grin. "Perhaps my purpose for meeting you, and your little story about your hat, can wait until tomorrow? Does Luke ever go to school?"

The Professor shook his head. "I teach him a little each day, and he has a private tutor that comes in weekly to check in on his progress. I may be able to leave him with Rosa for a bit…"

"Seems you can still read my mind," said Laura, smirking. "It's best if we can have a bit of time to talk about things without him accidentally stumbling across our conversation. I don't want him involved at all. I didn't really know much about your current situation but… It is what it is."

"Indeed."

"He reminds me a lot…of my brother. Well, a bit older, yes, but his personality. He's very precocious, it seems, as well as energetic." She looked at her knees, wishing them functional. "I'd play games outdoors with him if I could but…my legs have seen better days, unfortunately. A downright pity too, since I'm sure with you about, he has no friends?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that…" He took the tea tray and their cups to the kitchen, leaving them mentally on a chore list for the following day. "I'll clean that up later. I'm assuming you're staying the night, or do you live around here now?"

Laura shook her head, standing up with a bit of trouble. Waving off the Professor's help, she collected her things and walked slowly to the door. "I have a hotel room for now. When are you free? I'll come by as soon as you can have a long and uninterrupted conversation."

He thought for a moment. "If you can visit my office at Gressenheller around noon, I'll have a better grasp on my schedule for tomorrow. For now, would you like me to walk you to your destination?"

"Always trying to walk me home," she mumbled. "I guess some things really don't change, even after 10 years!"

"Words to live by." He opened the front door. "If you're sure you'll be alright…"

"Hershel. I'm not a little girl, you know. Hmm, it's different, saying your name again! Yet, it's also as if I've been calling you that forever." She stepped out of the apartment and onto the stair ledge.

"Be safe, I really don't like the thought of you alone at this time of the night! Really, Laura, shouldn't you—"

"It's right there, on the corner. I'll be fine." She smiled and began descending the stairs. "Don't go worrying about me, now. You just might fall for me again. Tell Luke I'll come by in the morning before you go off to the University, as I'm sure he'll wonder where I went. Have a good night."

"Yes, you too."

He waited until her shadowy, stumbling form made it to the corner of the intersection and entered the hotel, barely a block away. Locking up the metal door, he sighed. He felt thankful for his ability to walk normally, wincing each time Laura had struggled down the sidewalk. She probably didn't think anything of it, but for him, of normal walking…

The Professor sat down on the edge of his bed, staring so hard into the carpet that the floor began playing tricks, starting to warp. He shook his head from the brief lapse in concentration. The room was its typical self, bed with plush pillows, oak dresser, book shelf. Nothing really out of place, save a few piles of magazines, books, and graded papers on an end table. But it felt heavy, dismal, a specter of dejection suffocating everything in the room.

His mind processed the day all at once, as if he siphoned all thoughts from his subconscious and brought them to the mental forefront in an instant. His feelings conflicted, hardly able to handle analyzing what actually happened during the course of the morning, afternoon, evening. He felt that all too familiar warm, burning sensation at the bridge of one's nose when they become upset, and he cried. Covering his nose and mouth, he stifled his sobs.

"I don't even know…why I'm…I must be so overwhelmed, I just can't function!" His voice sounded so far away, even though he knew for sure he was the one doing the talking. "For ten years, I hid this all away, and then, in an instant, it's all back? All at one time. Plus more! Everything's so different now, it's like…I want something back, something from before, but I don't know what…"

'_Oh Laurie, the last person I wanted right now, yet the one person I'd ever need. I thought I had her lost, forgotten. What was I thinking? It's not only cruel to forget someone like Laura, but…the fact I did it, I single handedly did it. That fact…it killed her. I'm the only one to blame. Because…_'

"I was scared. I was afraid. I was paranoid and impatient, impulsive." He removed his jacket and threw it across the room, watching it with blurred vision fall into a sad pile against the wall. He wiped his tear-stained cheeks and runny nose on his oxford's sleeve. "If only I wasn't so cowardly… What would Luke think or say? I'm such a disgrace… Clark, is it really the best, having me teach the boy? I'm practically a fraud…"

With a final, rough sniff, the Professor lay back on his pillow, wondering what the girl who was left behind was currently thinking about in her room.

'_I guess it's completely logical and safe to say, rather, to admit: I missed everything about her. What a lie, what a punishing, disgusting lie, the last 10 years…_

_Another long story to tell..._'

* * *

**Um...the next chapter is taking on an M rating, but only the next chapter. It's not for the joy of smut; it's in good taste. At least, I think so. :[ Just so you know.**


	23. CHAPTER 23: SOLUBLE

**Um….the beginning of this chapter is sexual in nature and I'm warning you that it's M rated. It's not really smutty (as typical smut is, you know...pretty raunchy), I will continue to say that it IS in good taste. It's not just carnal; it does carry meaning for the two characters, and it's not meant for you to get off on. :[[[[**

**If you do not want to read, that's fine; I understand completely, and this isn't my usual fare. ****BUT YOU WILL NOT MISS ANYTHING IMPORTANT IF YOU DON'T READ IT. I PROMISE. It's…mostly just alarming, but not in a way you expect. Don't worry, it's nothing creepy….**

**BUT YOU MUST READ PART 2.**

**If you do NOT want to read, please scroll down to the part you see in bold, like this:**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**Anyway, byebye.**

**-Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 23 SOLUBLE**

Despite the table lamp, the room felt dim and cloaked, ready to hide secrets. Laura fell back onto the bed in a fit of giggles, the Professor landing gently on top of her as she pulled him down in her descent. She barely had time to collect her bearings before he kissed her deeply on the mouth, his eagerness apparent as he slid his tongue over hers repeatedly. She couldn't help but moan, immediately feeling stupid and deciding she'd suppress it the next time around.

"Hershel, I do need to breathe, you know!" she huffed, pushing him off slightly. "Please, what happened to the gentleman who was all flustered and confused on the front porch?"

He sat up, red in the face. Laura knew it wasn't from expelling energy.

"W-Well, I… I'm still me, you know, I'm not…I'm not doing anything uncivilized!"

"Oh? I never said anything about uncivilized, but that was a pretty anxious kiss all the same. Someone's a bit energetic…" She giggled as the disgruntled Layton sighed huskily, rolling his eyes, causing her to laugh even harder. "What a card…"

"Really now? If I'm not mistaken, I think I heard someone let out a bit of a moan just moments ago. I don't think it's only me being anxious…"

"Oi, moaning doesn't mean I liked it!" exclaimed the girl, her heart racing as she slapped his shoulder playfully. Had she viewed herself as an outsider, an observer, she would have scoffed in disgust that she would allow herself to behave so loosely, so...so…_expressively_. In the moment, however, she was riding every hormonal wave that flirting brought along with it. It was new, something fiery and robust, coasting her along without much thought.

'_Without much thought…that may be dangerous_…'

Chuckling, Layton gave her an unexpected seductive glance as he grabbed her hand, pulling her to sit up in front of him. "Well, I didn't hear any objections. Seems my student's learning rather quickly, hm?" He placed several quick kisses to her lips, tracing down her neck slowly. Laura shivered, his warm breath at her dress's collar, sending goose-bumps down her arms.

"Hershel, I…" She stopped, looking down at her waist. Half of his arm was hidden under her dress, his hand blindly guiding itself around to her lower back. He ran the tips of his fingers along her spine, catching her gasp in his mouth as he pressed another kiss against her lips. She wrapped her arms about his neck, reciprocating every action he made with his tongue, not noticing she was once again laid horizontal, parallel with the mattress. The Professor straddled her waist, one knee on either side of her as she giggled playfully, trying to wriggle out from underneath him. He grabbed her by the wrists and, without much effort, kept her pinned against the warm bedspread.

"Going somewhere?" That typical, beguiling smile…

"Oh, stop playing coy. Behind that smile is something sinister, you brat." She struggled against his hold, to no avail.

"Such tenacity! I'm barely even putting any effort into this, you know," he chortled, his laughter crisp and genuine as a mischievous glint danced in his eyes, a teasing complement to his broad grin. As much as she'd like to record and replay the moment, Laura eyed him carefully, letting him know he'd picked the wrong person to challenge.

"A brat, even at a moment like this!"

She tried using her own weight against his grip, pushing off his hold with force. Bending her legs too quickly, her knee roughly brushed across the crotch of his pants, causing him to inhale sharply. Laura straightened her legs back out and froze, eyes wide.

"Oh my gosh, I'm….I'm so sorry….I didn't mean to, well… Oh my, I didn't hurt you, did I? I'm so sorry—"

"N-No, I'm…fine, really…" He released her arms and blinked, trying to clear his mind, calm his irregular heart rate. He wasn't about to admit to her that it was actually pleasure, not pain, that caused him to react so suddenly. He grimaced, attempting to nonchalantly rearrange his pants into a more comfortable position.

'_I never once thought I'd be having such trouble with these trousers in such circumstances…_'

"I'm really sorry, I don't really know how much pain that causes, you know…getting bumped there, being a male and all that... But everyone always told me to kick _there_ if I was ever being mugged, so it must really hurt! I didn't think I'd actually ever be in a situation where it'd be an accident…"

He smiled and laughed. "Really, Laurie, it's fine. It wasn't really painful, just…surprising, I suppose…" He could tell she was nervous, being afraid she'd done something awful. It almost made him want to tell her the truth.

"I guess I shouldn't move around so randomly, but..." She slowly started to pull herself up, being careful not to bump him again. "You were holding me down and I couldn't reposition and arrange my clothes, and it's not very ladylike, in a dress, you know, to be…well, frolicking about. So…"

"Laurie, really, it's okay. Calm yourself. I'm fine! See? Fine."

After staring at the hem of her dress for a few seconds, she gave a sigh of relief. "Well, still. Perhaps I'm just…well, I don't know. It's not like I do this all the time or something!"

"And for that I'm glad," he muttered, chuckling.

"It's just that this isn't the most comfortable thing to be wearing in this…um, situation." She pulled at her dress, fingering the material. "It'd be better if I—"

"Didn't wear anything at all?"

Professor Layton ran his fingers underneath the heavy cotton of her dress, tickling Laura's bare stomach. She gasped, her eyes instantly shooting down to her torso.

"H-Hershel! What are you doing? That's really not—"

"It's much more comfortable without your dress, as you've alluded to, and…if I may be so bold, I'm finding it impossible to get this desire out of my mind…"

She looked at him with crazed eyes, unsure and slightly scared about whatever the 'desire' was. "Um, Hershel…what are you going on about?"

"Laura, may I remove your dress?"

"Good God, what's wrong with you?" she shrieked, holding her arms about her chest as if he could see through her clothing. She gripped herself tighter when he laughed weakly, his face turning pink.

"I'm sorry, I suppose I just…I was just…well…no, really, I can't believe myself, I feel—"

"Oh my, where did my gentleman professor go? I think his randy twin just blew in!" She crossed her arms and smiled impishly at his increasingly reddening face.

"Laura, please, if you put it that way, then…nevermind. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

Without hesitation she pulled the garment off and over her head, the absence of the clothing sending a new shower of shivers across her cool skin. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide behind them somewhat, half for warmth, half to shield herself. It was different, sitting half naked in black pantyhose and a brassiere, with a man obviously gawking at her. Different? Maybe that wasn't the word, she decided. More like _stupid_.

'_Yes, this is stupid. I'm being really stupid…just showing myself off so easily! I've lost all respect for myself…I wouldn't have done this in normal circumstances, I'm losing my mind!_'

She looked up, indignant. "Well, don't just stare. You're making me self-conscious!"

Shaking his head, Professor Layton smiled awkwardly, cheeks skirted with even more deep pink. "I'm sorry, it's just…well, you're very…I…" He looked down at his hands, nervously smoothing out a section of the bedding material. "Maybe you should put y-your dress back on, I'm not really sure I should be—no, I'm very sorry, I feel absolutely awful, I gave in too quickly. Although you really are rather, um, how do I say this… Why is this so hard to say?"

"Because you're stupid?"

"Yes, perhaps that's—now see here, no! That's not…wait, Laurie, what are you doing?"

Laura climbed into his lap, straddling his waist, mocking his disheveled mannerisms. She placed a series of quick kisses to his face, around his mouth, at the corners of his lips, teasing him until his breathing turned into desperate gasps.

"Laurie, please… I—"

"Shut up, Hershel." She pressed herself against him, smiling as he moaned softly. "I'm not going to think for the moment. Neither should you."

"Ah, no, really, you…it's…you're just…tea-teasing me…" He gently placed his hands on her hips and slid her off of his lap. "You're moving around too much, it's really…putting me into an uncomfortable predicament…"

She shrugged. "Didn't seem too uncomfortable a couple of minutes ago, what with that little gasp, your short moan when I bumped you _there_ earlier. I figured I didn't hurt you. You're just a pervert. Lecher, lecher!"

Layton coughed and shook his head quickly. "What? No, no! It's not that at all, you just—"

"Yeah. Yeah right. Look, I'm just having fun with you. I'm sorry, I'll be honest, but I guess I'm a bit of a sadist. Truthfully, I quite like making you squirm. It's, oh how should I put it, a…bit of a turn on…" She ruffled his hair, running the short strands between her fingers. "Tell me, do you think sitting in the cold with only these garments on is comfortable?" With a quick glance down at herself, she scrunched her nose as a hint.

"No, but—"

"No 'buts' about it," she grumbled irritably, shaking a finger in his direction. She cleared her throat, diverting his attention back to her face rather than elsewhere on her person. "If you want my clothes off, you mentally get played with. That's just how it goes. At any rate—oi, are you even listening to me?"

"Laura, I have to confess, there's something mentally distracting about having you sitting there like that, so no, I'm not listening to you in the slightest."

The girl looked at him incredulously, mouth agape. "W-What? You can't say that, you're—"

"A gentleman? Oh yes. Yes, yes, I am. And I always put a lady's needs first." He crawled towards her, Laura leaning back on the palms of her hands. He lay alongside her with his back against the bed and grabbed her gently, guiding her on top of him. "Did I not mention that you'd be getting punished?"

"I'm still waiting… Hmm, I don't like being on top." He chuckled and switched positions, looking into her face carefully, as if searching. Perplexed, Laura returned the glance with a wry smile. "What?"

"You changed somehow, in the past quarter of an hour. It's as if…I'm getting to see the real you. Raw emotion, your true self. I've never seen you so…open and energetic."

"Hmm…I'm not sure why, but I feel as if I…_can_ be me. Like, I have nothing to hide!" She laughed, the thought all the more pleasant as she looked back into his eyes, a pair of calming orbs full of understanding and patience, caring and love. She didn't need to hear him confess or proclaim anything. It was as if she just _knew_ that it was there.

"Neither do I. Hmm, yes, still waiting for your punishment, aren't you. Who am I to make you wait?" He kissed down her chest plate, stopping just above the lining of her bra. She let out a brief giggle before gasping loudly as he moved his hands underneath the garment's material, massaging her breasts slowly. A warm sensation swept through her veins, starting in her head, reaching to her toes, and concentrating somewhere below her abdomen as she writhed underneath his touch. She curled her toes and arched her back slightly as he fingered the most sensitive part, his thumbs circling her nipples. She felt her nerves sparking madly beneath her skin, only finding the energy to moan instead of fighting him off.

"W-What are you…doing that for? That's not…what…you should be…doing…Hershel, is this really…necessary…"

"Oh, I suppose you're right." Slowly but skillfully, he unclasped her brassiere from behind her back and proceeded to remove it completely. He glanced at her, trying not to make her feel embarrassed, but found it difficult to look away. For a moment, he felt dirty for letting his eyes rove over her pale skin, creamy and soft in contrast to the busy and rough patterns of the bed's comforter. It was impossible to not continue staring but it only was allowed to last for a moment.

Laura looked around timidly as she cupped her breasts in her hands, covering them. "It's just rather new, this whole bit… I'm a tad, well, I guess concerned. I'm not very easy on the eyes, perhaps I should go back to my clothes and—" He forced her to remove her hands, smiling warmly at her. He held her gaze in his until she couldn't help but smile back. "What's with that smile again?"

"Don't be embarrassed. You have no reason to be. I…there really is no other way to say it, but I think you're insanely beautiful, I'm sorry if that's awkward to accept. Don't…don't cover yourself." He bent down without hesitation and kissed about her chest over and over, each rise and fall of his lips leaving a moist patch of skin for the cold air to cling on to. He purposefully ignored her pleas for him to stop, instead alternatively taking her hardened nipples between his lips, his warm tongue circling them tenderly, slowly.

She breathed in quickly, wincing, swearing he had nibbled at her playfully.

"Hershel, p-please don't…I really can't explain it, but it's making me feel really strange, let me get dressed—"

"I'm sorry, but as long as you're in my house, I believe it's only appropriate for you to follow my rules." He proceeded to gather her discarded articles of clothing that were within arm's reach and toss them casually to the floor. "I quite like your hosiery, so, if you don't mind, you can leave your panty hose on for the moment."

"For the moment? Hershel, really, I—"

He lowered his face alongside her own, his mouth just outside of her ear. "No clothes, Laurie. They're too much of a hassle."

"A hassle?" she hissed. "Why do I have to be cold and naked, when you are still in your trousers and shirt?" Without a second's thought she grabbed the waistband of his pants and unbuckled the belt hurriedly, finishing with the button and zipper. The Professor yelled out as she began tugging on them, trying to pull them off.

"Steady on, be careful down there, it's rather sensitiiii-i-i-ive, Laura, stop it, that's not funny!"

Laura laughed, covering her face with her hands as she rubbed her knee across his groin area.

"But it _is_ funny! Look at how weak you become, like a dropped marionette!"

"No, no, Laura, stop, please, you don't understand, you can't just, oh God, you…can't…"

A devilish grin spread across Laura's face as she continued rubbing up against him with her leg. "Oh, would you rather me stop then? Okay, I'll stop. But it was _quite_ funny. However, remember this kindness. You wouldn't stop when _I_ asked you to!"

The Professor propped himself up on his elbows, stretching his legs out behind him as he kicked off his pants entirely. "I suppose that's fair enough…"

"Hmm, but maybe not. It's not quite fair—" she nudged him in the same spot, "—that I get such treatment—and you don't."

"No, no, no, it's quite alright, Laura… Laura! Please, no, not…"

"Seems to give you the same sensation I got while you were busy up here," she whispered sultrily, cupping her breasts in her hands. "Makes someone _quite_ happy, it seems…" She abandoned her leg and instead began using her hand, stroking the outside of his underwear cautiously. Smiling triumphantly, she watched as Layton closed his eyes, lost inside of some pleasurable day dream.

"Laura, I…I don't know what you're doing, but…it's...it's…"

"Good?"

"More than that…" Forcing himself out of his reverie, he pulled down the black panty hose Laura was still wearing, his goal now readily in sight. "Laurie, please, let me touch you, I can't take it for much longer. I've been waiting all evening now…"

Finding the request somewhat odd, mostly because of the manner of delivery, Laura burst into laughter. "Asking me so kindly about something most people would just…_do_, I'm certain! You really are funny…"

"I need you to be aware that I'd never force you into anything if you didn't want to do it! I'm not just going to do as I please with your body. It is yours after all." Tossing her leggings aside, he ran his hands up and down her legs, starting at her ankles and ending around her thighs.

"I suppose that's right and proper… Now I feel bad for just letting my own hands wander…"

"Don't apologize." Leaning over her, Layton lost the amicable expression he typically wore and furrowed his brow. "Laura, let's be serious for a moment. I…have no intention of stopping at this point. I won't be subtle about it: I want to make love to you. I don't want you confused or guessing, I know how much you hate that. I don't want you in a situation you might regret later just because you didn't have the facts straight." He kissed her forehead. "Are you comfortable with this?"

Now that it had been presented in such a forthright way, she thought about it a bit deeper. "Well, Hershel…do you think this is going to work out?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean, will you stay? Stay with me? You aren't one to just…get laid and then move on to the next girl, are you? I'm…oh my, I'm so dumb, I don't know _how_ I could have ever suspected you of doing such a thing, I think I'm just…a bit nervous…I really couldn't go and do anything with anyone else, if I go through with this. I feel like I'm signing myself away!" She blinked, trying to focus on a spot on the ceiling. Layton stroked her face with the backside of his fingers.

"I'll make it work out. I'm not interested in finding anyone else, you're already everything I ever would have thought to look for in someone." He kissed her on the forehead. "But still, I only want you to go through with this if you truly love me. Don't feel pressured. It's very important. I want you to feel you can believe that. If you want to stop, I'll stop. If you want to wait, I'll wait."

Everything seemed to fit. Nothing seemed amiss. All words she wanted to hear. It was secure, something solid to believe in. Most importantly…

'_The more he talks, the less I'm afraid. I think I just worry too much…is that it? I'm not sure! I think I need to trust him. That's a part of loving someone. If I can't trust him, he's not worth it anyway…He said…it'd work out. That means…forever…_

_Yes…forever…_'

"I can believe that," she whispered, smiling. "You're the only friend I've ever had, and that's saying a lot. I trust you more than anyone I know. And I know you: you wouldn't screw me over, so to speak. No pun intended…"

He crawled over her, kissing her softly on the side of her face. "The feeling is mutual." He slowly slid his hand into her underwear, exploring her gently. "If you ever feel uncomfortable, let me know. I'll stop."

"So if it just feels good, you won't ever stop?" she chortled, a mischievous grin at her lips. She attempted to hide her nervousness. Whatever was going to happen, it was completely new to her. It wasn't that she didn't trust him; perhaps it was more of disappointing him. "Um…Hershel?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever done this before?" She wished in that moment that she hadn't asked, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer or not. Without reason, she instantly felt jealous, as if he'd already answered with an undesirable reply.

"Have I ever fallen so hard in love with someone as I have with you?"

Rolling her eyes, Laura snorted. "Well, I guess not, but I'm looking for a straight answer! Have you, or haven't you?"

"No, I haven't." He kissed her fully on the lips. "You get me all to yourself. That's why I want you to communicate whether it's painful or not. Because, well….I'm just guessing here."

"Oh…well…that's fine. To be honest, I'm really glad. I was scared you'd say something else…"

He laughed. "Who do you take me for, a predator? I'd never use anyone like that. Now then, no more worrying or questioning from you." He became silent, reading her gasps and movements as he moved his fingers about her most private of areas.

'_I suppose it's not really difficult, if one's perceptive!_'

"Whatever you're doing, it…feels really nice…" Laura moaned, a short giggle at the end of her comment.

"You know, you're more than welcome to use your hands as well…" A smirk stretched across his face as he gingerly inserted one of his fingers inside of her. "Does that hurt?"

She felt her legs wanting to squirm, but she kept still, afraid to have something go wrong. "Not…exactly. It's like, oh, I'm not sure how to say it, it's a bit tight. It's just plain weird, really."

"Well, that's only natural, I suppose. I'm afraid it might hurt a bit when we—we—we, oh _God_ that feels really good…" He slumped forward, barely catching himself with his free hand as Laura timidly reached into his underpants, touching whatever came to her hand first.

She grimaced, not knowing what to expect, and wondering exactly what it was she was feeling. "It's…it's a bit wet, and…well, it's a bit slippery. And…yes, it's also a bit _gross_. What does it look like anyway?" She sat up a bit and looked down into his underwear with a grotesque grimace as she stretched open the garment at the elastic. The Professor scowled.

"Really, do you have to make this so awkward? Leave your scientist sort of attitude at the door next time you come over," he grumbled. "This isn't some experiment or something!"

"Well, why do you get to see me all laid out, but I can't see you? You aren't being fair in the slightest! Oh my, the male genitalia is really quite odd looking, isn't it? Thankfully, I'm a female…"

"_Laura_!"

"Oh, sorry." She let the garment fall back to its original position, Layton wincing as the band hit his skin with a small snap.

"Ow! Well, I guess you have a point… But it's still awkward, just don't talk about it like that…" He frowned all the more when she laughed. "Now you're mocking me?"

"Yes! Because the great Hershel Layton is flustered. He's embarrassed about something so mundane as one's private parts! Congratulations, Hershel, I think this is the most thoroughly amused I've been since the start of this school year." She stroked him carefully, watching his eyes start to droop. After a few minutes his breaths became more ragged, shorter. "And watch how he shifts modes so quickly! First he's all upset, then almost flat on his face because he can't keep himself up!"

"S-Stop it, Laurie…" he moaned, unconsciously starting to move his hips more rhythmically. "You're teasing me a bit…too much…"

"Oh, poor little baby, can't handle it? Perhaps I'll stop…" she warned, taken by surprise when she felt herself pressed deeper into the bed, her lips smothered in another deep and passionate kiss. She barely noticed her final garment being slid off of her hurriedly, almost frantically, the Professor doing the same to his own as well. He positioned himself half in front of her, half over her, ready at her entrance. He looked down at his student, smiling warmly, but an anxious and painful glint showed in his eyes.

"Laurie, I want you to tell me if it hurts. Understood?" He waited for her to nod, a sufficing confirmation. With little hesitation, he slowly slid himself into her, feeling guilty as Laura winced, a small whine escaping her lips. "Does it hurt?"

Grimacing, she moved him forward by his shoulders as he pulled out, reentering a bit quicker. "A…a little… It's just…a little different, as well….It's…really painful, but it still feels really good, I can't quite…explain it, it's…really weird…"

"Should I stop, or keep going?"

She nodded. "Keep…keep going…"

He increased his speed, sliding himself in and out with no problems, Laura's gasps and moans harmonizing with his thrusts. Her fingers flew wildly to his head, through his hair as he continued. He hissed as she grabbed two large clumps of his hair at the roots. "Laura, let go, that hurts!"

"I need…something to grab on to! I….oh God, oh God, please don't stop, Hershel, pleeeease…" Tears started at the corners of her eyes, why, she didn't know. Her hips continued moving to his rhythm effortlessly, as if she knew what would come next, she was so in tune with him. If she were analyzing it, she might have thought it was her rhythmic prowess at the piano that attributed to her reading the rhythm so successfully now. "Herrrr-r-r-shellll, ah, please, go…faster, faster, please…just like that, oh _God_, Hershel, I don't know…how much more…it feels really…warm, or something…"

The Professor wasn't used to physical exertion, but found no problems as he continued feeding off every pleasurable wave that rushed through his body, every pre-orgasmic sensation that pounded throughout his entire groin. He could feel beads of sweat trailing down his face, his thighs, the backs of his knees. "Laura, I love it when you…call my name like that… Come on, say it again."

"Her-r-r-shel, oh God, oh God, it's almost too…too much, ah! Please, please, don't—"

"That's not how you should say it, there's only one 'R' after all," he whispered with a grimace. "What's my name again?"

"Her—Herrrrshel, I can't do it if you keep pushing like that! I can't t-talk straight about anyth—Hershel, please, I really can't…take much more of this… I—!"

"It's okay, shh, I'm going to guide you through it." He helped her move along with him again, her back slightly arching with every wave that swept over her body. Although everything at the moment was foreign, he could tell Laura was close to her limits, her body quickly preparing for an orgasm.

"Hershel, Hershel, please, don't stop! I think I'm going to…Something's…I'm, I'm, I'm, I don't know, I just…!" Laura moaned loudly, digging her nails into the Professor's shoulders, making him whimper quietly. Her body shook madly, her voice breaking as she screamed, almost to the point of crying. Layton closed his eyes, not able to contain himself anymore after listening to her reaction and feeling her inner muscles contract around him. Much less dramatically, he felt himself release as he shouted out, forgetting the world momentarily as pleasure the likes of which he'd never known drowned his entire conscious mind. He forgot about worries and standards and societal pressures. He almost forgot about who was laying underneath him, quickly reminded as he opened his eyes once again, blinking so his vision would return. It ended almost as quickly as it started, he thought, although the sensation was still coursing through his veins.

He smiled weakly, his breathing still uneven.

"L-Laurie? Heh, are you alright?" He looked upon her, her eyes shut fast. "Laurie, open your eyes. I want to see you."

Laura merely turned her head to one side and kept her eyes glued tight. Her mouth was pursed, her lips forced shut. She didn't so much as make a grunt, even to acknowledge that the Professor was there. He caressed her face with his hand, turning her face back towards him.

"Laurie, come now, was it really so tiring that it put you to sleep?" he said with a laugh, but only half jokingly, as she made no movement still. Sighing, he tapped her face nervously, worried as to why she wasn't responding to stimulus. "Laurie? Laura, can you hear me?" He continued by shaking her, tapping her face again, his hand against her cool skin making a dull _pap_ sound. "What's wrong with—"

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

**PART 2**

It all happened at once. He gasped as the girl's hands latched onto his wrists, preventing him from touching her anymore. Her eyes shot open, only a shadow of what they had shown just minutes before; they glistened mockingly, a gripping fear hid behind a glint of malice. She sneered, half provocatively, half sardonically.

"_Allfinished,Professor?Gotwhatyouwanted?Areyouleavingnow?_"

He gasped, startled as her voice emanated like a demonic cackle, her words spoken so quickly that they were like a fluid, debauched and dirty as they streamed into his ears. Her grip on his arms tightened as she twisted at his wrists.

"What in the world—?" He yelled out, trying to break from her confining and literal handcuffs while he stared in horror as the whites of her eyes began to slowly fade, an inky black bleeding into them from the corners. Her possessed leer began drooping, the corners of her mouth bending her smirk into a panicked grimace.

"_Areyouleavingmenow? Don'tleaveme,don'tdoit,whydoyougettoleave?Whycan'tIcometoo?_

_WHY. CAN'T. I. LEAVE. TOO?_" she bellowed in terror, shaking his arms, the rest of his body responding likewise. Her strength was surprisingly immense; Layton thought he heard something crack in his arm, near his elbow. He was alarmed, so much so that he couldn't react in any way other than staring at her now completely ebony orbs, the jet black substance drowning out her formerly chocolate eyes. He whimpered, half from dread, half from the sharp and stinging pain in his forearms.

"Please, let go of me, let me go!"

"_SEE?THAT'. You're going to LEAVE me alone, alone, all alone. Don't leave me!_" She began to sob, but the Professor had trouble feeling sympathy as the scene was too horrific. All that was in his mind was fear and terror. "_Don't….don't leave me! DON'T DO IT!_" she screamed, shrieking at the top of her lungs, a long piercing note ringing out in the dim room. He wanted desperately to cover his ears as she would belt out the shrill cries, pausing intermittently as she'd collect enough air to let out one after the other.

"_You're nothing but a lying, cheating, pervert! You've ruined me, RUINED ME AND LEFT ME. You lied, you never loved me, ever, you lied and became afraid, and you left. Used me, left me. You said it'd work, did you mean forever? OR FOR THE NIGHT? Are you happy now? Areyouhappy, oh,sohappy…sooooohappythatyou'vegottenwhatyouwanted, anddon'thavetoworry?_"

Tears started in the Professor's eyes. "Please, please let me go…"

"_Nomore,anymore,. Don't leave me, don'tleave—_"

Professor Layton sprung up with a shout, tossing the bedspread off of him. He looked around, the rising sun weakly penetrating the drawn curtains. He blinked, his breathing nervous and irregular. Cold sweat dripped in beads down his brow.

"A dream…it was…just another dream… Another…"

'_Just? Just a dream…? Yes…_

_Just a dream_.'

* * *

The dreams, in the beginning, were a nightly business, hollowing out his inner thoughts, killing any time of renewal that sleep was supposed to bring. He hoped leaving behind Grissom's would be enough, but his presence at the University was tattered and worn, the nights bringing no solace. He was sure he didn't make any good first impressions. He dreaded laying down on his pillow, knowing what was coming as soon as he closed his eyelids just long enough…

That was, until _she_ came. A savior from his nightly suffering.

He had been sighing and nodding off during a summer meeting in preparation for the unfolding school year, his first year as a full time professor, helping lead the archaeology department in research projects and excavations. He was hoping the other heads of departments wouldn't notice his lack of attention. Seated between the heads of the engineering and mathematics departments, there wasn't much to be said, nothing to even chat about, nothing to keep him awake. It was a dangerous situation, his thoughts continuously wanting to drift back to what had occurred just last month, the end of the academic year…

He must have fallen asleep, as he felt no time had passed from his last jolting himself awake and when the meeting finally finished, knowing full good and well that it should have taken an hour or more. Yawning, he collected his folders and half-hearted notes (mostly scribbles) when he felt a thump on his back.

"Nice nap, Hershel?" bellowed Finneus Schroedinger, an engineer with an intellect that was almost the stuff of fiction. "Ha ha, don't act as if you didn't drift off! I caught ya, plain and simple! You missed quite the humdinger of a speech, didn't he, Claire?"

A round-faced quiet woman smiled shyly, waving off the boisterous man's comment. "Hardly, I'm not so sure anyone quite understood it anyway. As long as I have permission from the department to continue my research, I don't really mind if anyone was in tune to my babbling!" She giggled nervously.

"Hmm, what was it about?" Layton questioned with some interest. He liked her subtle modesty.

"Oh, just some things about M-theory, a couple of comments about time travel, here and there, nothing much really, it was all very…well, 'physics-ey', hardly anything interesting. You didn't miss much…"

"If you'd get me a copy of your notes, I'd quite like to look it over and learn what it was about," he said with a smile. It felt somewhat painful, as he hadn't smiled in a month, but it felt natural once more, almost addictive. "Sounds complicated, yet I'm sure it's nothing you'd have any problem explaining, correct?"

She blushed, shaking her head slowly. "No, no, I could help you understand it, certainly. Now, if you don't mind, I'm a bit late already for an appointment. If you'll excuse me." She scurried off, the tails of her lab coat fluttering behind her.

"A bit of a whackjob, that Claire, but they say she's onto something with all that time travel stuff she's spouting off about," Schroedinger sighed, trying at a whisper, but failing miserably. "Eh, it's not for me. I'll stick with the tangibles. Build myself a space shuttle or something like that. Say, Layton, how about a round of beers down at that pub that just opened? I hear they have a mean lunch special. Engineering is all going. Don't worry, we won't talk your ear off about the stuff that makes the world go 'round. We can stick with talking about the stuff that makes round the world, if you'd like!" he ended with a booming laugh.

Layton shook his head, a hint of warmth burrowing through his viscera, the most he'd felt in a month. It was as if he'd been dead, but was slowly was coming to, life coursing once again in his veins. "I'll just head to my office. I'm preparing for my new one, have to pack up and all…"

"That's right! It's not every day you become a full-time, head honcho! Best of luck to you, Hershel. As soon as you get settled, you'll be able to sleep again at night. I remember when I first started, a right wreck, I was! Well, see you around!" The large man bumbled away, raucously gathering his colleagues as he made his way to the exit doors. Layton smiled stupidly to himself, a childish sense of comfort wrapping around his brain. He wanted to see that woman again, wishing he had listened to her speech instead of falling asleep. She gave off a calmness that was confusingly electrifying, rejuvenating.

'_Able to sleep at night, yes, I think I will, Finneus._'

And he could sleep. For 10 years, he slept soundly. And then a paper arrived in the mail. Blank. A vile contrast to his current state of mind.

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to forget the images and sounds that had forced themselves into his subconscious during the dream. Or maybe they were always there, only hiding, treading in the deluge he tried to drown them in, years ago.

'_It's all her fault…why'd she had to ruin it…_'

He walked from his room to the kitchen, finding Luke eating a bowl of oatmeal.

"You look rough!" the boy exclaimed between spoonfuls of his gooey breakfast. "Nightmares?"

"My neck's a bit stiff. I must have slept in a strange position." He massaged the back of his neck, groaning. "Well, Laura said she'd come by this morning. She hasn't stopped by, has she?"

Luke shook his head as he put his bowl in the sink. "Nope."

"Well, I need to get to work, so if she stops by, tell her I'll be expecting her around noon."

"Right-o, Professor!" He gave a small wave as Layton left the room, grumbling to himself as he went to clean up, not wanting to deal with whatever the day had in store for him.

* * *

A familiar knock rapped against the office door, making Professor Layton shudder as he was transplanted back in time to a more lenient time, a time when his expected visitor would come for review. He chuckled, grimacing at the word 'review'.

"Come in."

Laura poked her head in the door, bespectacled eyes smiling. "Hope I'm not too late?"

The Professor eyed his pocket watch lying on the desk. "A minute early, by this. Since when do you wear glasses?"

"You asked me this before. I told you, I rarely wear them. I can't see distances." She took a seat in front of the desk. "It's a bit different from your last office."

"Oh yes, how'd you find it?"

"I asked the front desk lady where I could find a grumpy, old rock lover. And I followed the smell of thousand year old sediment and bones, and it led me here!" she laughed. "Don't be so cross. It's all very much true."

Stuffing his stack of graded papers away, he growled under his breath. "I see you're still quite enamored with archaeology," said Layton, thick with sarcasm. "Much like the rest of the engineering department…"

"Oh yes, quite. I'd much rather blow rocks up than study them."

"As I really don't have the entire afternoon to waste, let's get down to brass tacks and address your problem. You led me to you at the ice cream parlor, after 10 years of being apart. Why?"

Her expression became more thoughtful, her eyes dour. "It was actually my last resort, contacting you. I don't have any other option, no recourse, and…well, regardless of our history with each other, you're the only person who can help me." She wrung her hands together. Even after all those years, she still nervously cracked and rubbed her fingers between each other when nervously thinking. "I _could_ work it out myself, but I'm at a disadvantage. It doesn't always help, being intuitive and perceptive. People have caught on to what I know, and how I learn it.

You see, I work for a very interesting…_company_. You may have heard of it…"

The Professor raised his eyebrows. "The name?"

"Does…Petrolite Industries ring any bells?" she asked feebly with a weak smile. Layton's mouth dropped.

"The single most hated company in Great Britain at the moment? They are currently—"

"Yes, yes, yes, they've monopolized the oil industry in Britain. No one gets oil anymore unless it's through Petrolite. I'm well aware."

"You speak as if that's a _good_ thing," he said softly. "It's left Britain a mess. Petrol is so expensive, it's almost impossible to buy it at the consumer level. And you work for such a crooked company?"

Laura nodded sympathetically. "I know all of this. It's not my doing, well, the planning portion of it, but it's been my machines that have made the company what it is. I engineer for them. You…you're quite abrupt, jumping at conclusions. You used to weigh in all the facts, before forming an opinion…"

The Professor wasn't sure if he was more surprised, impressed, or angry at her. Years ago, Petrolite Industries came out of no where and began buying up a significant portion of the oil industry, offering their reserves for a lower price compared with any other company or country that exported oil. This caused several other oil tycoons to go bankrupt or become prey to the young Petrolite business, and soon all of Britain was buying oil from them. Times were good for a while, but after taking on several contracted buyers of their oil barrels, the price was increased by over 200%. Consumers blamed those in the oil industry for their greed, accusing them of making a few more pounds at the expense of the people, and soon there was government and societal pressure on the company to drop prices. And they did, a good amount, but they still left Britain starving for the liquid commodity. Layton knew this, and Laura's involvement was close to unforgivable.

"Well, it's caused a lot of problems in the last few months," the Professor muttered, a low whisper on the edge of a growl. "Riots, aggression… People can't function without oil, it's a fact in the modern world. I won't pretend to be impartial about such a stinging problem in our society. And now you say you work for this…_sham_ of a company. Supposedly family run as well! It was all calculated, and with such precision. It's very much on the verge of a crime, capitalism or not."

Laura gripped the edge of the chair cushion, biting her lip. "Well, as I said, I don't make the legislative decisions of the industry. I make their machines."

"Yes, unethically so."

"You're really in a position to judge me so quickly, you blithering idiot?" she yelled, slamming a fist on the desk. "Really now. Are you? Don't question my morality! '_Pull the plank from your own eye,_' before you start telling me to remove mine. Why don't you let me _finish_, and then we can discuss our personal problems later, on a moral ground if that's what you want…_Professor_."

Professor Layton looked at her through squinted eyes. "You might not be my student anymore, but you're still 10 years my junior. You might do well to watch your tone."

"And you might do well to at least _act_ as the gentleman you always toted that you were!" said Laura incredulously. "If you won't help me, then you might be dead before the end of the year! There's no telling what's going to happen if you keep up your narrow-minded harassing!"

He laughed, surprising the girl all the more. "Dead? That's preposterous, whatever are you going on about?"

"You already don't believe me. I can tell. I should have never come back to you…" Clenching her fists, she fought back the urge to scream, bottling up her temper so much that tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. "And then that stupid hat. It's not the same one. What did you do with it, the one I gave you?"

"This was a gift as well. That's really all that's important about it," he said straightforwardly.

"That's all that's important? On what occasion was it given to you?"

"Oh, aren't you just nosy!" he said with some amazement.

"Who gave it to you?"

"Somebody."

"_Somebody_? Let's have this person's name!" She crossed her arms, furious. "Or is that not important about it either?"

His expression changed, almost frightfully so, as if the information carried a heavy burden along with it. He smiled, but gravely, sarcastically. "_That_…is very important about it. It was a gift from a…very good friend…"

"As was your other one! Who was it from?" she asked, her voice rising in urgency. It was killing her not to know, but she suspected that she somehow knew the person's relationship with the stubborn man sitting behind the desk in front of her.

Exhaling heavily, Layton slammed his hands, palms down, against the desk. "Since you're so curious, it was from a girlfriend. Are you happy now?"

"A name, Professor, let's have a _name_ not a title, that was my ques—"

"_CLAIRE_!" he bellowed, rattling some tiny knick knacks and things in canisters along the shelves on the wall. "_Her name was Claire_! The hat's from Claire, it was a _gift_, she gave it to me because I was becoming a real part of the University, a major part of the archaeology department, and she believed it _suited_ me. And then do you know what happened?" His eyes were burning, his voice wavering slightly. "She died. She _died_. She gave me the hat, went to her research, got blown up, and died. Now, is there _anything_ else you want to dig out of me, or are we finished here?"

Laura sat in a daze, her bottom jaw hanging open slightly. She stared at him in silence, although she desperately wanted to look away. She felt like a deer in the headlights, unable to move, unable to reason that she was just bulled over with a ton of information, _emotional_ information, _angry_ even. He'd never screamed at her in the way he just did, with such passion, with an anger that wasn't characteristic of the Hershel Layton she was familiar with.

She swallowed, and began breathing again. She didn't realize she had been holding her breath.

"If she gave that to you…for the reason she did…that means… It was only mere months after leaving me—I mean, leaving Grissom's…"

"Yes, very astute."

"Ten years ago… Funny, how you could replace me so quickly. Or perhaps, you were already with her, when you were with me…?"

He shook his head. "No. I would never do that to anybody. Regardless of your opinions of me, I would never do something like _that_, being with two women at once."

"Then, it was my former conclusion. I was replaced…rather quickly," she whispered, as light as the dust hanging in the light from the sun. Tears, real tears, built up in her eyes. "I guess…I really am fragile," she said with a weak laugh. "I told myself, I'd never cry over you again…"

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

Shaking her head, she rose from her seat, smiling, but forcibly. "When your world ends, and you're all alone, maybe you'll feel a portion of what you made me feel ten years ago. And maybe you'll also realize who was irreplaceable, and who was not, as I just have." She sniffed, laughing pathetically.

"Laura, I—"

"_No_. I don't want to hear anymore. I only have the comfort in knowing that I was true to you, and that I'm not so needy that I had to go _use_ someone else, rebounding, using another to make my situation not so…miserable."

"How…how _dare_ you imply—"

"_Imply_?" she said sneeringly, glaring daggers. "That's the truth. You used to love the truth. Now, as it takes a stab at your integrity, you grimace and wince. It hurts, truth. And in your case, it will kill."

He stood up so quickly, Laura thought he was going to jump across the desk at her. She turned around as he called after her.

"Laura, you turn around this instant and explain yourself! You came for a reason, so—"

"Good day, _Professor_."

"Laura, don't you dare leave this—office…"

He gawked at the closed door, wishing the items in his office weren't so valuable, as the want to throw something was almost unbearable.

END.

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**Hahaha. What a joke of a chapter.**


	24. CHAPTER 24: BITTERSWEET

**The rating goes back to the original T rating. Hee hee.**

**I struggled GREATLY with this chapter…I'm still not sure if this is the direction I want to go in but….it is what it is…eeeeehhhhhhh.**

**Before the chapter, though, is a small character bio on Laura. I thought I'd give some minor details and stuff, kinda to help summarize her character all neat and tidy like.**

**Anyway, here it is!**

**Eating oatmeal and watching Cars 2 past midnight,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHARACTER BIO**

Name: Laura Haris

Gender: Female

Age: 18

Birthday: January 8th

Heritage: English and German

Personality: Reserved, introverted; clever and sarcastic; rejects emotion; skeptical on most topics

Family: Lives with father (Derek) and mother (Gretchen); also had a brother, Liam (deceased)

Likes: Mathematics, corned beef sandwiches, quiet, winter, cotton, wild birds, playing piano, solving puzzles, cold drinks (including tea and coffee), chewing things (even pencils), clear-cut lines, black and white.

Dislikes: Illogical things, cold hands, history, hot beverages, purple, talking, calamari, archaeology, dust, whipped cream, emotions, fried food.

Idiosyncrasies/Weird habits: Laura is obsessive-compulsive; it may not be apparent in the story, but she obsesses over things to an excessive degree and occasionally gets weird impulses. Additionally, she can not fathom wearing another's clothing, as fibrous materials irk her, and feels awkward should she step on cracks in the sidewalk or the ending hem of rugs/carpets. Laura never skips a meal, only uses toilet paper that hangs over the roll rather than under, and makes a mental note of which foot she starts walking up a staircase with (as she strives to use the opposite foot the next time, to make it 'even').

History: In the beginning of the story, Laura lives with her wealthy parents in a large cottage-style home. She attends the Grissom's College for Women just outside of London, a prestigious academy for only the most intelligent women. Laura achieves a mathematics/engineering academic scholarship during her first semester of college.

When she was 12, she lost her brother, Liam, to leukemia (he was 5). She was very close to him and remains psychologically scarred from the event. For almost an entire year she would only find the energy to play piano (something her brother loved listening to), sometimes non-stop for almost 24 hours. This allowed her piano skills to develop with unheard of haste, yet she will play only when there is no audience.

Laura's father is extremely overprotective, and has unattainable expectations. Without a son, he raised his daughter as a boy-as well as a girl-to make up for the lack of a son, that is, until Laura was 7 (Liam was born). After the death of his son, he forced his daughter into extracurricular activities due to her unhealthy obsession with the piano. She was forced to engage in martial arts, mathematics and engineering exposure courses, and academic lectures throughout her regular schooling career. Upon choosing a college, Laura's father would allow no college to be considered other than Grissom's.

Laura's mother is frail and weak mentally, as well as unsupportive. She never opposes her husband. She is a socialite, and only expects the best of manners from her daughter. She never lets her daughter deviate from societal expectations, even in the slightest, and requires her to behave as any "woman of class" should; this is only contrasted with when Laura has to obey her father's expectations of a son (knowing martial arts, learning mechanical know-how, etc.).

In conclusion, Laura has very little opportunities to express herself personally, and is considered "antisocial" by her parents, as well as many of her peers. She has no friends, and suppresses her feelings. She prizes logic and order to everything else, and prefers methodical, mundane activities, especially over hip or typical ones. This seems to contrast her mental genius, as she rarely pursues goals that truly put her brain to work.

During Laura's first year at college, she meets Professor Layton at Grissom's, as he is her archaeology professor. She is forced to take archaeology as an elective. Although only an assistant, visiting professor, Layton teaches at Grissom's while maintaining a position at Gressenheller University as well.

Laura naturally shies away from anyone or anything that does not pertain to her personal goals, and initially sees little to no use in archaeology. However, as she finds that her professor and her have more in common, she also finds herself making more and more appointments with Layton, unintentionally developing feelings for him. Going against his better judgment, Layton also finds himself wanting to spend more time with Laura, although a student, and invites her to several various events around London, including studying at his home. Neither mentions specifically their true feelings for the other, although both find it obvious and both naturally see to it that no one suspects that the two spend more time together than teachers and students normally do. However, after almost two semesters of bottling up his feelings, Layton confesses to Laura that she's much more than a student, and after going too far, decides that it's best if he leaves Grissom's and stops having a hidden relationship that would threaten getting both of them in serious social trouble. Laura's distraught, and vows to hate Layton forever for making her feel loved and wanted, and then throwing it all away without so much as an apology.

**And...that's it for now. ****Enjoy Chapter 24!**

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**CHAPTER 24: BITTERSWEET**

In a dimly lit, uncommonly quiet hallway, Professor Layton locked up his office just as the night shift janitors began their cleaning. Other than the delicate _splok_ of the water sodden mop hitting the tile floor repeatedly, there was no sound to be heard, and he was grateful for the silence.

Exhaustion slowly inched through his limbs as he slipped into his car and headed home. It was typical—the boring, daily grind—but his mental state was anything but. His afternoon rattled, he decided it wasn't for the best, such affairs coming up, especially when he was supposed to be going through thesis papers and preparing for excavation presentations.

'_Of all people to spring such things upon me…why someone serving as an emotional catalyst? Why not someone with no past, no…baggage?_ _Why do I feel a sense of relief, but simultaneously, a grave burden being forced upon me?_

_Truly, I'm thankful that such a word exists to sum up my feelings: bittersweet._'

Tiredly, he knocked on the door to his flat, knowing it'd be quicker to be let in by those inside than to look around his person for his keys. A light set of footsteps could be heard from the inside, prancing up to the door.

"Who is it?" came a small feminine voice.

"It's me…"

Flora opened the door quickly. "You're back so late, Professor! Luke saved you some dinner, but I'm sure it's not as good warmed up as it was right from the oven!"

"It'll do, either way." Layton hung up his belongings, even his hat, and made his way to the kitchen, finding Luke finishing up with dishes. "Thank you, Luke, for your hard work."

"Ah, Professor! I left you some dinner in the refrigerator. Should be a little warm still, if you hurry with it," the boy suggested cheerily. "Oh, by the way, Laura stopped by. Said she has something important to tell you, and she'll be in room 307, if you would stop by the hotel later. I told her she should just stick around since you'd be back and all, but—"

'_Oh yes, just where I want to go_,' the Professor grumbled internally. '_But, it must be done, I fear_.'

"Luke, I'd like for you and Flora to get yourselves to bed soon. I don't mind if you catch a program or two before falling asleep, but I want you to get a good night's rest. I expect you in bed before 9."

"Absolutely, Professor!" the boy said, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves. "I'll let Flora know. Oh, and give this to Laura, would you?" He handed Layton a small paper bag. "I thought I'd get her a little gift."

"You really shouldn't leave the house to be getting gifts!" Layton admonished him with a slight whine. "How many times must I tell you not to leave by yourself? I'm going to have to bring you along when I go to the University if you keep sneaking off. Besides, you shouldn't be spending your money either."

Rubbing his hands together, Luke smiled awkwardly, his mouth in a guilty tilt. "Well, it wasn't exactly _my_ money…"

"Or spending mine either!"

In what seemed like a matter of moments, Professor Layton finally stood outside of hotel room #307, working up the courage to knock on the door. The time from home to his current location was a blur, his thoughts elsewhere. Had he really just walked the block, fought the blustery wind for his hat, and waved off the incessant woman at the hotel counter ("Professor Layton! A pleasant surprise! Look, Linda, it's _the_ Hershel Layton, in our quaint hotel! I wonder why he's here anyway…")?

The typical without-fail questions started pouring through his mind ("What if it's not the correct room?", "What if it's a trap of some sort?", etc.). Finally, with a heavy sigh, he tapped his knuckles against the thick wooden door, his resolve still thin.

The door pulled away from the frame, a golden chain bridging the small opening. A voice spoke but no physical body was to be seen. "May I ask who it is?"

"Professor Hershel Layton of Gressenheller University. I wish to speak with Laura Haris. I believe she's staying in this room?"

A light giggle came from the other side. "Such a grand title! _Professor Hershel Layton of Gressenheller University_…" The door quickly closed and the chain was removed, Laura walking away as she left the door cracked. "So sad, you don't even recognize my voice anymore."

Layton cautiously entered, eyes lazily moving left and right to analyze the room. "I didn't want to assume..."

"First things first, I don't want this to erupt into—"

"No, let me start." He cleared his throat, cheeks reddening. "I'd like to apologize for earlier. I wasn't…exactly myself. I guess I was a little bit overwhelmed with everything, all at once. Screaming at you was uncalled for."

He followed the girl to a set of plush recliner chairs. Sitting back with a weak grin, Laura chuckled. "Half accepted. For the sake of getting my real problems out into the open, I'll accept your apology…only for right now. It's really not good enough. No, it's not. I have a lot to say to you, but, for now…" She folded her hands. "Please, take a seat."

"It'll have to suffice. It's hardly all I want to say to you either, but yes, for the sake of the current situation… Although, I wish I didn't feel so apprehensive about all this," he said admittedly with some reluctance.

"That's your intuition acting up!" she laughed. "Good to see you've still got it. You'll need it. Because you _should_ be a bit apprehensive. After all, I am. Tea?"

Layton smiled effortlessly. "Of course. Hot, even! Did you make this yourself?"

"No one else here, is there? See if you can tell what it is. I had Luke go buy me some things in town. I'm sure he already told you it was a gift, but it was really my request…" She halfheartedly tossed a wad of paper bills into his lap. "Payment."

"Really, it's nothing, you don't need to pay." The Professor poured himself a cup of the hot tea, breathing in the golden liquid's scent. "Ah, it's Gingersnap tea. How did you manage to recall the recipe? It's rather difficult…"

"Good memory."

"I gave you another recipe as well. Why not memorize the one I knew you'd personally care for?"

"Well, I figured you'd be coming here tonight, and I'm the one requesting your aid, so I might as well make you feel comfortable," she said with a small shrug. "I don't have much trouble with memorizing things, you know. Not hard to recall, really… Anyway, enjoy the stuff."

After several sips, Layton looked at her over the rim of his cup. "Requesting my aid? If you'd be so kind as to shed some light on your troubles, I'd be happy to offer my assistance wherever necessary. However, if it involves taking up my entire evening, I may need to continue another time…"

"I'll have an overview laid out within minutes. The 'helping me' part…may take months." She grinned sheepishly as he sighed and gave an obvious reaction of disapproval.

"_Months_?"

"Don't worry. After it's over, I'll be out of your hair. Again. Forever."

Layton shook his head. "That's…that's not what I meant but—"

"Well what else _could_ that sigh and your drab expression mean? I'm not an idiot, you know!" She rolled her eyes, rubbing her knees out of habit. "I'm not trying to kill your social life or anything...not that you have one…"

"That _is _true, but—Hey! That's not what I'm concerned about!—It's just that…well…" He shook the dregs in his cup, the remaining contents swirling around like an unenthused cyclone. "I've already taken quite a bit of time off, solving other things, offering my help to others recently, and—"

"That how you picked up that little girl?" Laura quipped, a snide smile stretched across her face. "Getting them younger and younger, aren't you, Hershel?"

"Now that is _not_ funny," the man huffed angrily, clearly offended. "She has no where else to go. It's not a matter of choice: it's a matter of necessity. I'm giving her a place to stay for the time being, it's a rather lengthy story, and—"

"—and it's one I really don't need to hear right now!" she interrupted quickly, sensing an elaborate explanation coming on. "I was just giving you a hard time, as you hadn't mentioned Flora before, and I find her there when I happen to stop by. It's just a bit random, is all. Not every day you find your former professor with two random children in his flat!"

"Well, if you put it _that_ way…"

A silence tore through the conversation. Layton shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the pause. Laura finally exhaled audibly.

"I guess, when it comes down to it, you've done quite a bit, since back then… I'm almost jealous. I missed out on a lot, didn't I?" she said feebly, giving a wry smile.

"Unless you care for archaeological discoveries and extensive research in the field, I doubt you've missed anything."

"I mean, you keep having all these stories. There's so much history lost. I regret it being gone. I regret it being lived, but…not experienced. At least not by me." Shaking her head, she laughed nervously. "I'm sorry. I'm exercising my emotions a bit too much. To business."

Layton frowned, understanding her feelings, but not knowing how to respond. The past was indeed still the past. There was no way to review and redo, but he felt the memories tangible enough to jump back into them, a pool of yesteryear at his feet. His stomach felt as if it had collapsed, his heart falling into it endlessly, a hyperbolic, visceral black hole."Yes, if you will continue."

"I'll try to be quick about it, as I really need to make a phone call before 10, if you don't mind my rushing. As I mentioned earlier, I work at Petrolite. I have been for…well, I suppose technically it's been five years."

The Professor looked at her curiously. "_Technically_?"

"Yes. That is to say, I wasn't really aware that I was working for this company. That's one curious bit about this entire thing," she said with a shake of her head. "I hope you find this worth your while. My intuition is rather sharp, if I may say so, and I feel the whole thing is odd, but I don't have much in the way of proof. It might sound odd to an outsider…"

"Laura," Layton said softly, setting his cup on the table, "I don't need any proof right now. Explain your situation, and I'll see to it that the feeling that's causing you unrest gets straightened out. Now, some background, if you will."

She didn't know why it was so awkward explaining her problem. She wasn't sure if it was because she was merely speculating, guessing at her plight, or because she felt the need to figure out her problems on her own. Or perhaps, it was because she had to break from a ten-year period of no communication with the man in front of her, one who'd caused her to feel every emotion in the book, including genuine, passionate (if not awkward) love accompanied with murderous rage. She looked briefly into his face, accepting his eagerness as genuine rather than a façade in order to hurry her along. She decided he'd aged a bit, his eyes deeper, his smile more practiced. A smile that could be trusted, even years later. Even if it had led her astray once before, it was now renewed and infallible.

With a strong sigh, she gripped the arms of her chair. "Alright. Here goes.

"I received a letter in the post five years ago. It wasn't addressed to me personally. As for the content of the letter, it merely was seeking the attention of those who had been in engineering or archaeology courses at Gressenheller or Grissom's. It was almost like a general advertisement or brochure, mailed to those who had attended or were attending either school. According to the paper, they wanted help with archaeological excavations. They were building a research group, and engineers were wanted. Immediately, I responded. It would be easy, and it was an opportunity to possibly get some money, or at least brush up on my engineering skills again.

"I met with the head of the group, and he was impressed with my knowledge. He claimed to have heard of me, which helped a bit, I believe, as I was quickly made manager of his main project, no questions asked. My task was to build a drill capable of obliterating the earth's crust and drilling several hundred feet deep, even in large bodies of water. It was apparent the guy was obsessed with oceans, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was searching for Atlantis or something, as ludicrous as I think that sounds."

Layton lifted his hand, signaling for her to stop for a moment. "My feelings about Atlantis aside, did he give any reason as to why he gave you such specifications for your machine?" he asked, interest piqued. "The oceans bit seems quite specific."

"None, no reasoning. I assumed it was for archaeological purposes, but who am I to question what those might be? He wanted a machine, I built it. Everyone on the team was a somebody in the field of archaeology. They were all pretty knowledgeable. A few were professors from various institutions around Britain. I figured if they were all in on it, it was all fine and dandy.

"However, things became a bit…_off_, when my employer began to shift his focus from excavations to oil. It was then that I learned that he was also the co-owner and head manager of Petrolite Industries. It was odd that he would all of a sudden be more interested in pounds per oil barrel than how the research was coming along. Not long after, most of those who were working with me were let go, and everything research oriented came to a halt. It all became about oil. I was one of a small group that helped keep the drills in check and make sure they continued to be in good working order. Ensure a smooth performance and whatnot. What for, I didn't really know at the time.

"Things got even more curious when my employer kept alluding to some "great plan". It wasn't long after when he became so powerful in the oil industry that he essentially was only one of few making the rules. England fell into a slump with the outrageous prices, and the rest is history."

The Professor tapped his fingers against his leg thoughtfully. "This merely sounds like an egotistical tycoon capitalizing on some black gold," he muttered, enthused. "What do you need my help with? Leaving the company without being hassled and or harassed?"

"Ha ha," said Laura sardonically, reducing her eyes to slits. "If this were only that, we'd be done here and you'd be absentmindedly grading some obtuse report from some snot-nosed prat instead of talking with me right now. And although I can guess which you'd rather be doing, I still require your brains and second-opinions."

"As I've already graded all of my snot-nosed, obtuse reports, I think I still might choose a witty conversation and some tea with my old student, if it's alright with you," he stated with a daring smile. He poured himself another cup of tea, feeling more open and comfortable than when he first entered the bright hotel room. He noticed Laura relaxing a bit as well, her demeanor settling into its default of sharp cleverness with a playful dash of sarcasm.

'_Has it really been ten years_…?'

Laura let out a short laugh. "I daresay you would choose that. Anyway, I don't think it's _merely_ one bloke getting a lucky break and running with it. The way he talks, the way he mentioned his 'grand scheme'…it's not just eccentricity. It's almost an obsession. I don't think taking over England's petrol prices was his 'grand scheme' or 'plan'; that's not grandiose enough, if you get my meaning. He's still driven. I get the feeling he's a megalomaniac. I think it's something _else_ that he's , it's as if he's not the same person as when I first met him. Who shifts their focus in such a way? Archaeology to oil? And now he's not giving us—the few he's kept along for the ride—a clear agenda? I mean, I've had _some_ projects, but… I don't know, it's just strange, any way you look at it. And why was I kept around, out of all the people out there who are available, much brighter than I am, by far? It's very odd. Why am I keeping some obnoxious drills working, going around placing them at oil reserves, when he might as well just do it himself? I stand around all day doing nothing but watching Tom and Jerry or the news, whichever kills my boredom first."

Layton nodded. "Indeed, it does sound strange, after all. There's one thing you failed to mention that might be of importance. Laura, what is your employer's name?"

"Leopold Chancey," she said with minor displeasure, as if the name left her mouth sour. "Stuck up brat with slick hair and a slick car to match."

"Chancey?" Layton asked with a confused expression. "As in, he's related to _the_ Chancey's?"

Laura shrugged, her long hair rippling as she shook her head slowly. "As far as I know, he's a nephew to Edward Chancey II. I guess Leopold works alongside his uncle in the family oil business. But that's hearsay. I don't know for certain on who is related to whom."

The Professor sat quietly for a moment, his eyes boring holes into the air as he gazed across the room. He swallowed and then sighed, his brain failing him for the time being. "Leopold, Leopold… I can't say I know anything of him. If he is indeed a nephew, I wonder where Mr. Chancey's son, Edward III, is painted into the picture, if he is in it at all. The Chancey family has not been in the limelight for years now, despite the elder Edward's former involvement in archaeology and engineering. They seem to have fallen into obscurity, perhaps fortunately…"

"Rumor has it that Edward III felt out of favor with his father years ago. Apparently isn't much of an engineer, _or_ a businessman. Pretty much useless to the man now running an empire. Anyway, that's all I know."

"I haven't seen Edward senior in years. I suppose now I know why, as such an enterprise would prove to be quite the undertaking." Layton rubbed his eyes and looked back at his former student, as if doing so would make the situation disappear, and he could be free to return to stagnancy. "Do you have any clues, any leads on anything? What is your agenda like specifically, other than catching daily cartoons? And why were you supposed to be recorded yesterday, if I may ask?"

"Oh," the girl said with a chuckle, ending in a snort. "Yes, that. That's another thing. Leopold got a bit paranoid recently. Said he feels that someone's trying to sell company secrets. In reality, I think he suspects me of something. Perhaps he can sense that I am on to him, in some way."

"How do you know this?"

"Simple: I'm the only one being monitored," she said, showing off her disabled watch, tapping it while looking at it affectionately. "Too bad for you, little watch. As for my most recent agenda, that's where you can start helping me!"

She rose from her seat with an energy from a past long gone, forgetting that she couldn't move as she once was able to. Layton called out as she almost tripped from her own knees locking up. "Are you alright?"

She giggled embarrassedly as she stumbled over to a suitcase. "Sometimes I forget I can't just shoot up and amble about! My adrenaline still moves me a bit faster than my legs can…"

The Professor stood over her as she searched her bags, rummaging through them hurriedly. "Don't you have some sort of cane or walking device to assist you? It would be to your benefit. Perhaps we should get you something—"

"And look like a dependent, 70 year old granny? If I fall from my own idiocy, then I guess it will teach me, won't it? Or not. I have quite a few scars. I don't learn." She stood up as straight as she could, handing him a small stack of folded papers. "Been to Italy?"

"But of course," he said proudly, opening the top most fold of the stack. "Wait, is this a ticket—"

"Well, you get to visit again, because you're going with me."

"I'm—_what_? No, I have classes to attend, to teach, I have lectures and—"

"Teach? Or, do your classes end up teaching _you_? I hear some of those girls have taken a fancy to you…"

He gripped the plane ticket tightly, the paper cracking underneath his fingers as it bent. "Well, that's quite debatable, I—"

"Look at those pink cheeks!" Laura laughed, in hysterics. "I bet the students run circles around you and that hat of yours! Anyone as forthright as Millie was? It's rather difficult to beat _that_."

The Professor groaned, tossing his hands up animatedly, revolted at the mention of his 'fans'. "Oh, for Heaven's sake, there're two of them, blatantly and unabashedly enamored. I don't have the foggiest notion of _why_, they pay attention to nothing but when my weekly office hours are announced, they are all ears," Layton rattled off grudgingly. "I'd almost beg to have them settle down to double of what Millie was. She was practically a saint compared to these two…"

"A Teresa and a Lily, if I'm not mistaken. Lily has a fondness for _keys_, if you catch my meaning…"

With a puzzled expression, Layton opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then gasped. "You don't mean—"

"I overheard a couple of girls talking when I left your office earlier. Mentioning about how next time they won't lock the keys inside your office, they'll just hold on to them until you give them some sort of favor. I didn't hang about to hear what _that_ was supposed to mean… But regardless, it wasn't hard to figure out who the mastermind was. Luke told me about your locked office fiasco, and my ears perked up when I heard two loudmouths blabbering about in the halls."

"Indeed," he said with a slight snarl. "I swear, I never knew teaching college age women would be so difficult. Young people these days, there's very little couth."

"Oh indeed." She walked slowly to the door, declining the Professor's hand as he offered to prop her up. "Who would have thought young girls would find such a boring old professor to be so attractive?"

"Yes, who would have thought such a boring old professor would have to fight off such brazen young ladies?" he chuckled with a fleeting grin. "Yourself included."

Removing the chain to the door, Laura looked at him scornfully, trying to hide a grin. "Don't try flirting with me. I've noticed you slipping into your old mannerisms."

"Well, if you want me to accompany you and solve your little mysteries, you might try to humor me with your old mannerisms as well. I see you still harbor them; guess they just need fished out of you."

"That means you'll help me?"

"If you continue to forgive me for the time being, and perhaps smile." He straightened his hat. "You seem to have warmed back up a lot quicker than I would have expected, given earlier. And I must admit, I have as well. I was a bit worried at first, coming here tonight, but…" He looked at his feet, briefly jotting a mental note to shine his loafers before fighting off an embarrassed grin. "I'm…I'm glad you contacted me, regardless of what you might still feel. I'm not lying when I say I missed you. Terribly."

As Laura opened the door, she stared at the knob, her reflection fish-eyed and distorted in the brass. She fought herself momentarily, a battle of growing trust yet with gripping pain. "I…still have my reservations, but…I think it was the best option, yes. I need to get this sorted out, so…really, my only option, yes… Do you have to be so emotional, honestly!"

Professor Layton stepped out of the door, chuckling. "You're still very readable. You suppress your feelings so forcefully, you end up fermenting them for so long that eventually they just consume you. Inside, you're still fighting an emotional storm."

"Thank you, Dr. Layton," she muttered in a low growl, leaning against the door frame. "I believe that was our last counseling session. How much do I owe you?"

"Just a light fee, against my better judgment, but..." He bent forward quickly, his hand at the back of her neck, pulling her forward and placing a short kiss to her lips in the blink of an eye. "Next time, I'll charge the entire amount."

Laura almost fell over, barely catching herself on the door frame's molding as she jolted backward, attempting to avoid what was inevitably going to happen. "Y-You…you can't do that! Next time? _Entire amount_? There won't _be_ a 'next time', you dolt! Don't think you can just waltz right back into my life as if—"

"—as if you wanted me to kiss you? I'm only acquiescing to the request of a beautiful lady. Is that not part and parcel of my creed?"

"I didn't…I didn't request anything…_You are a downright, dirty rascal_…" She fumed to herself as Layton walked down the hall with a laugh. "You are _not_ a gentleman, and I haven't thought so for the past 10 years!"

With a tip of his hat, the Professor turned to face her and winked as he prepared to turn the corner. "I'll prove I'm more a gentleman than you remember. I'm just as different now as you are. And definitely for the better. I told you once before, you'd better stop that scowl. It's much too charming."

"_Charming_? I'll give you—"

"I'll speak with you further tomorrow!" he shouted, chuckling to himself softly.

And with that, followed by a slam of the door (courtesy of Laura), he was gone.

END.


	25. CHAPTER 25: THESIS STATEMENT

**Eh, not very long, but…. A bit more of random fun stuff, I think, in this chapter. Not too much going on in terms of major plot. Gotta transition between things at **_**some**_** point! Thought I'd throw in some more Luke, with sprinkles of Flora. THIS WILL NEVER BECOME LUKExFLORA SO DON'T ASK. Ugh.**

**Anyway. It's not the best, but I quite enjoyed writing about the airplane. I'm admittedly in love with airplanes and all things that fly. I'm also madly in love with the Bernoulli Principle, and it changed my life when I learned about it in 7****th**** grade. Can you say….PHYSICS GEEK?**

**My plot stinks, and when this is all over, you'll all probably scoff and think, "What a joke. I wasted my time on such a generic plot line? I could have been doing something more important, like…watching concrete crack."**

**Anyway, that's all I have to say. I'm too psyched for this bird fair I'm going to in a few hours (it'll be over when I post this…haha) to care anymore. Can you say….PARROT GEEK?**

**Oh, and btw, if you know of Prof. Layton's actual office number, lemme know. The one here is made up because I'm too lazy to go through the games and movie to check….**

**OH! And if anyone's going to ACEN (anime convention in Chicago) on April 28****th****, I'll be there! 8D**

**Avoiding the free pistachio ice cream,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 25: THESIS STATEMENT**

_There was a time when I thought I could manage. Manage my goals, manage my time…manage my emotions. My life, even. I might have even tried to manage that. I guess I was aiming too high. Because I jumped, and reached, stretched with all I had, fingertips to the skies, the endless vacuum of a territory I'd never bothered to pay much attention to._

_And…I fell. Hard. In more ways than one._

_I suppose I knew all along what it was like to aim for perfection, but I realized early on that it was unattainable. Perhaps that's why I advised against it… I knew that it hurt to fall. Would I allow anyone to find that out on one's own when I could prevent it? Would I allow _her_ to find that out on her own?_

_For the record, I knew she wouldn't listen. After all, I wasn't either._

_And it appears…I'm still not listening._

_Why does it feel like I'm not in control? It's disturbing._

_It's disturbing._

_It's utterly, completely, illogically disturbing._

_Tea. Yes, tea. I'll make some tea._

_I think I have an appointment at noon…_

_Maybe that's tomorrow. Or maybe that's next Monday… I'll just tuck in to some biscuits and this pot of tea and—_

"Professorrrrrr!"

The door to the quaint office of Room 114, First Floor, Department of Archaeology, Gressenheller University, swung open with the same energy of a champagne cork, an exuberant and crazed female student striding through the trembling door frame. She made a quick dash to one of the available desk chairs, laughing and pointing at a fellow classmate who had just as hectically—only trailing by mere split seconds—followed from behind.

At the moment the door had collided with the wall, Professor Layton had simultaneously gasped and jumped, proceeding to spill hot tea on his trousers, swear under his breath, feel guilt for swearing, and smile genially as if none of the events had come to pass. He nonchalantly pulled his seat closer to his desk, attempting to hide the stains on his pant legs, as the girls smiled back at him. He nervously greeted them, feeling hidden agendas staring him in the face. Or perhaps more aptly put, 'punching' him in the face.

"Ah, Miss Rudolph and Miss Quatrain. Early as always, I see…"

"A second missed of an appointment with you is a second's worth of punishment in Hell, Professor," the girl known as Teresa rattled off matter-of-factly. She had entered the room first, and wore a conservative uniform of khaki and white, the tan of her skirt blending in with her slightly darker skin. She and her friend, Lily, wore clothing as similar as night and day, as the latter sported a provocative dress, cut to reveal a bit more than what was typically considered socially acceptable on the campus. Both girls traded glances and giggled.

"All true, Professor," Lily said, tossing her dark curls about as she dug through her bag. "We came for you to help us with our thesis papers!"

"Yes!"

"We're a bit stuck on the thesis part…"

"After all, it _is_ a thesis paper!"

"And what's a thesis paper without a good thesis?"

"Indeed!"

The Professor cringed inside at the inane banter, but continued smiling like an unmoving statue. "Indeed indeed. However, didn't I just help you correct your theses the other day? Surely, there isn't anything more for you to take away from another meeting?"

Teresa gasped, dramatic hurt plastered across her face. "You are too modest, Professor Layton! We don't merely take you for a boring editor!"

"Of course not! We accept you only as the wonderful friend and confidant that you are!"

"Yes, so perhaps the thesis trouble is a façade…"

Lily nodded, crossing her legs and making sure her pose was in full view for the Professor. "Really, we came to invite you to lunch this afternoon!"

"But of course," Teresa said, smiling at her teacher seductively, a cue for her friend to join as well. The pair looked like desperate teenagers trying to score a date to a formal dance that, should they miss, would go into the 'Book of Social Failures'. Layton was unsure whether to feel sorry for them, or to feel frightened of them. The girls' audacity aside, their intentions were something impervious to oversight, as blatant as their outfits and flirtatious expressions were.

'_If only I had Millies and Claras and whoever else I had back in the day at Grissom's… These girls make my former students look like saints!_' he thought to himself. His cheeks burned from embarrassment, as well as from holding the same stony, smiling pose that he used when hiding deep-seated opinions.

Layton cleared his throat. "As much as I should get something to eat this afternoon, I—"

"Don't try declining!"

"We won't take 'No' for an answer!"

The duo stood simultaneously, indignantly folding their arms across their chests and briefly snorting their contempt at an unfavorable outcome. With no further course of action, the Professor sighed and sat back in his seat, utterly defeated and tired of putting up with a useless fight.

"How does next Tuesday, 11:30 AM in the student café sound?" he muttered reluctantly, scratching his forehead absentmindedly. "I have a meeting at 12 but—"

"I'm glad you see reason, Professor Layton," Lily chortled, a slight purr in her voice.

"Oh yes, very glad. We didn't have to resort to…_undesirable_ measures," the other girl said softly, barely above a whisper. With a quick giggle, both girls grabbed their bags and turned on their heels, smiling triumphantly. "We'll see you in class later, Professor!"

"Yes, we can't wait!"

The door shut in contrast to the way it was opened, a soft click ensuring they had truly left. Professor Layton blinked, then exhaled sadly, wishing he could recall what he had just agreed to, and wondering what '_undesirable measures_' meant exactly.

Moments later, the door opened again, hinges creaking. Layton looked up, his heart sinking as he expected to find his admirers returned. Instead, he was met with relief as a former student poked her head between the frame and the open door.

"Ah, Laura. A very welcome surprise, considering who just _left_…"

"Oh indeed. I heard the aftermath coasting down the hallway," Laura scoffed with disgust. "Your little admirers were trying to determine which outfit you ogled at the most. Tell me: do you prefer the traditional school girl, or the street walker get-up? Everyone's dying to know."

"To be honest, I couldn't tell you _what_ either of them was wearing. I wasn't looking at their clothing so much as their expressions to judge what sort of antic they'd pull next. I'll confide in you this: I've never been so loath to step foot into a classroom as I am now, knowing they're in it!"

Laura laughed haughtily and slowly approached the desk as Layton busied himself with organizing his notes and an array of folders. "They have you wrapped around their finger!"

"Don't remind me…"

Laura rummaged through her bag. She removed two pieces of folded paper and tossed them lightly on the desk.

"Plane tickets for Luke and Flora. I'm assuming they will fly if given the opportunity?" she questioned.

"I'm not so sure it's a good idea for them to come along. What if they get wrapped up in something, well, dangerous? I'm not comfortable with them running into unknown situations like this, so—"

"So you'll let them know the risks and let them come, right?" the girl said with a grin. "Where else are they going to be able to stay anyway? You'll leave them all alone?"

"Nonsense! Rosa's here, and she already comes by daily to check in. She'd be more than willing to take care of—"

"Well, they already think they are going," Laura interrupted, shrugging. "Guess you'll just have to break it to them, tell them they can't go after all. No way now of letting them down easy, I suppose…"

The Professor rolled his eyes. "You already invited them, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? That's your wicked way of saying 'Yes'!"

"I'm not so sure about 'wicked', but perhaps, yes, that's my way," she said brightly, smirking. "I'd like some more lively company than what you'd deliver. You don't quite provide any more decent of conversation than you did a decade ago, so I'd rather like to have some intellectual stimulation for the duration of this escapade."

Spluttering on his words, Layton shook his head earnestly. "W-What? Back to your insults? And what if I decide to not accompany you at all? This is a favor, you know!"

Laura giggled madly all the way to the office door, catching her balance on the door knob. "Insults…? Such a brash reaction. There was a time when you enjoyed being picked on. Plus, a gentleman never goes back on his word, correct? Then I trust you'll be at the airport tomorrow morning, boarding a plan by 10 AM, and eating rigatoni before the evening arrives."

"Yes, well…I suppose so, but…that's not the point. I'm not so sure what the point even was." He collected his things and hurriedly followed her out the door, closing it behind them and double checking that he indeed had his keys. The last thing he needed would be to be locked out from his office…again. "You might try being a little less abrasive…"

Laura tried walking at a comfortable pace for the Professor, but found her legs holding her back terribly. She grimaced apologetically. "I'm not quite…able to walk as quickly as you need to walk. And, abrasive? Really? You used to take it and deliver it back again with such finesse! I guess you lost your touch. I'll keep my witty comments to myself then."

"I've, well…I've mellowed out a bit, I suppose," he said, slowing down. "Not enough practice. And besides, well….well, it's really not all that important." He purposefully avoided her confused glance, instead checking his pocket watch. "I must get going. I have a class to teach soon."

"Not important. I'm starting to wonder what you _do_ find important in the world." She stopped in the middle of the hall, letting him continue on without her.

"Right now, it's getting to my lecture hall without being truant. You're more than welcome to make yourself at home back with Luke and Flora, but for now, the talk of planes and rigatoni will have to wait." He walked on ahead, failing to turn around and bid farewell properly. His thoughts were gravitating elsewhere. "I trust you can find your way back unaided?"

"The talk on rigatoni can wait forever. I hate Italian food." She shook her head as the Professor carried on without her, pausing briefly before turning a corner. "Yeah, sure. I'll be fine."

"Yes, yes. Good day, Laura."

She watched wistfully as he disappeared. Chiding herself quietly, she made certain to not let her feelings get the better of her again as she clenched her fists and made her way to the exit. Her legs began to unwillingly lock up, making her wince as she forced them to bend.

"Things aren't the same, am I trying to kid myself? A decade has gone.

'_Even if I tried to believe that things aren't any different, I know, logically, that they indeed _are_. I'm still going to question, I'm still going to challenge. Question what's real, challenge my trust. All I can be certain about is my own consistency._

'_I hope I've made the right decision, contacting him, and haven't just sealed my fate._'

* * *

A slight bout of guilt playing games with his conscience, Professor Layton snuck into the men's bathroom, 30 minutes left until he was expected to start class. It was all he could do to break free of the madness that had unceremoniously chewed up his morning and spit it back out without so much as an apology (or perhaps a comment on how it tasted, although he was certain he could make a fair judgment himself). He sighed, sitting on a cushioned stool in a small annex reserved for waiting. In this case, it was solely for thinking. Thinking and sympathizing. The latter, for himself.

'_She doesn't know, but I'm losing myself_,' the Professor thought miserably. '_One moment, I'm in the past, living as if a day hasn't passed since…well, since the last time I saw her. As if there was nothing to feel sorry for. And then? I'm feeling like I'm owed something, like I'm allowed to blame her for something. But…_'

"But what…?" He stared at the wall, momentarily wondering whether the hue of the wallpaper was appropriately matched with the carpet. Verdict: no.

'_But back to important things… Part of me wants to feel like I used to. But the other part is rejecting that feeling. Almost out of anger, out of spite. As if ten years should be enough time to cure me of whatever disease crept through my system before…_'

He walked distractedly to a sink, washing his hands without a clear reason. Staring himself down in the oval mirror in front of him, he blinked, and frowned, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes.

'_Am I really obligated to help her? Am I just doing it out of sympathy? Or perhaps, as a sort of penance for my former misdeeds? I'm starting to think it's something like that. I hope she realizes this. My behavior last night wasn't…that wasn't me. I shouldn't have done that. What was I thinking, kissing her…? I don't even know where that came from. As if I should have been comfortable doing such a thing! I'm losing it, even after all this time, I'm losing it… I'm no where closer to any sort of perfection than 10 years ago…_

'_After this whole puzzle is solved, it's done. The end. There doesn't need to be a resurrection of anything from the past._

'_**The past is dead**_.'

"She doesn't enjoy studying the past anyway. I'm doing her a favor, actually," he mumbled to himself over the rush of the faucet, his expression morphing into something more jovial as he smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Even with his energy heightened, he swore he'd aged considerably over the past 10 years, much more than Laura had. Sighing, he turned off the water with a metallic _squeak_ and gathered his materials, holding them firmly under his arm.

'_Yes…a favor_.'

* * *

Breathing in deeply, Luke gazed around him, people of all looks, all walks of life, convening at one central place for one reason, and one reason alone: transportation.

"This airport is huge! I don't recall ever being in such a busy place! With so many various people too!" he exclaimed, completely mesmerized by the slow rhythm of people entering and leaving all of the shopping establishments before boarding their planes, finding their gates of departure. He smiled happily at a family reunited, an elderly woman taking a few young children into her embrace. "Isn't it wonderful, Professor? So many things going on, everyone has a story!"

"Oh yes, yes, quite." Professor Layton glanced once more at his ticket, making sure they were heading in the right direction. "Luke, help me find our gate. I don't want to walk out of the way only to realize we're at the wrong place. Remember, it's important for a gentleman not to be—Luke, are you listening?"

The boy strayed slightly from Layton's side, inching closer to a candy stand. "Yes, Professor, loud and clear!"

"Then you'll want to stay by my side, and—Flora, whatever are you doing?"

"Look, free samples!" the girl squealed, pointing exuberantly at a bored looking man holding a food tray. It resembled a sad cactus, the way the toothpicks stood up around the tray so sparsely, jammed into cubes and slices of cheeses and cured sausages.

"Samples? Oh, and Professor, I want a pretzel!"

"Me too! How about a cinnamon roll? I can smell it from here!" Flora raced to a pastry cart, flying from the Professor's attempt to grab her shoulder.

"Now see here, both of you! This is a very hectic environ—"

"Cinnamon roll? Oh, I want a smoothie too!"

"Steady on, my boy! Luke, don't you dare!"

Luke pivoted around the Professor and made a dash towards the treats, following Flora, as Layton pawed at the air and groaned, having missed his chance to nab the boy as well, staring after both of the children in his charge. He threw his hands up as far as his couth would let him, trying hard not to showcase his being flustered.

"Back in my day, I'd have never done such a thing over _sweets_!"

"Back in your day, good sir, there were no sweets except for molasses and the sugar cube, and that was primarily for tea, not a snack." Laura smirked at the Professor's livid face as she approached him slowly. "Glad to see you made it! And good job taking care of your assistants. They're both food for the wolves, what with your ability to control them!"

"And how do you suggest that I contain them any better, given what I've tried?" Layton retorted icily. "Since you're so good with children."

"Oh, that's easy. Sometimes, they are actually _begging_ for you to be firm with them." She turned towards Luke and Flora, taking a few steps towards the cart that they were huddled around, gawking hungrily at a glass display case full of warm treats. "Luke, Flora! We really need to find our gate. If you make us late, you're going to be in for a very hefty punishment. Say, sitting in a hotel room while the Professor and I take in all the sights Rome has to offer?" She ground her knuckles into her sides as she stood akimbo, obviously delighting in taking charge as her mouth curved upward craftily. "Understood?"

Both children turned from the cart and raced back to their guardians, shaking their heads.

"No! Okay, sorry, Professor, we'll just wait right here," Luke sputtered, breaking suddenly from his run to avoid slamming full-force into the Professor. Flora followed suit, next to Laura.

"Sorry, Miss Laura, we'll just stay right here."

Mouth slightly agape, Layton turned slowly to his former student as they continued walking. "Ever thought of taking up drill instructing?"

"No. But you might want to start demanding attention from others. You know, being a pansy isn't a prerequisite of being a gentleman."

"I just don't do things the way you do, is all."

"Your back's cracking, but there's no chiropractor in sight," she said, shrugging.

"…what's that even mean?"

"You let people walk all over you."

Brows furrowed, the Professor opened his mouth to say something pithy, but was stopped by Luke's sudden announcement.

"There it is! Gate K-6!" He punched the air and smiled happily at Flora. "We'll be off in no time now!"

They all walked up to the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the wall, looking out over the bustling tarmac. Several attendants and workers were arranging luggage, guiding other airplanes to their appropriate zones, and making sure everything was in good working order. Professor Layton turned away from the window.

"Our flight leaves in about 30 minutes, so find something quiet to busy yourselves with," he said quietly, taking a seat in the waiting area. "As for myself, I have a bit of reading to finish."

Luke and Flora took to a forlorn old newspaper tossed apathetically onto one of the many black seats, searching for a crossword or some other game within, as Laura sat next to the Professor. She sighed heavily.

"So, what's your intuition and intellect telling you about this whole thing? Anything new? Any…oh I don't know, initial reactions or thoughts about this whole matter?"

"I thought I'd save it for the aeroplane, when I'd have a better idea of who was around me, who could be listening," he said quietly, barely above a whisper. "I'm not certain that you're free from observation, given what you told me about being monitored."

"Good thinking. I guess that skull of yours isn't as cobwebby as I thought," she laughed. "I'll let you read then."

After several minutes, passengers began boarding the flight. Professor Layton made sure everyone in his party was accounted for, handing the tickets over to the attendant before taking to the long, dimly lit hallway that led to the plane's door. He breathed in deeply; the temporary accordion halls leading passengers to their destination always had the same sterile scent, and it was one he was particularly fond of.

They all boarded, Laura taking a seat by a window. She sat back and smiled, obviously pleased. "There is nothing I like more than a plane take off."

The Professor took the seat to her right, Luke and Flora in the same row but across the aisle. "Nothing quite like it, I must admit. It's quite the rush."

He reminded Luke and Flora of the air sickness bags located in front of them, as well as all possible exits in case of emergency, even though the stewardess was already explaining such things. Laura rolled her eyes and gazed out the window as the attendant went on to explain the requirement of fastening one's seatbelt and keeping it locked until the appropriate signal was delivered. Luke groaned, tightening his belt.

"Such a chore…"

The engine whirred along with the turbines underneath the wings; the sound caused buzzing throughout the cabin like some sort of static. Perhaps it was the air vents, adjusting for pressure, Laura thought. She'd have to research that later on when her mind was clearer.

A light silence settled on the passengers. Only low voices could be heard as the plane finally lurched forward, the metallic behemoth slowly driving along the tarmac. It stayed its course for some time, the pilot at the front ensuring he had clearance to take to the runway. The plane turned, wings outstretched on either side, dying to take to the skies, which were a dull blue and contained not a cloud in sight. They finally faced a long expanse of runway, Laura glancing at it out of her window before the plane lined up with the road. Layton leaned forward, trying to catch a better look.

"Indeed, even as I've aged, this is still the fun part." He turned to Luke and Flora, who were staring out of their own window. "Off we go, you two."

Without warning, the aeroplane creeped forward, increasing speed steadily, but quickly. The tires bore heavily against the concrete ground, spinning wildly as they took the machine forward. Laura smiled as she listened intently at the loud whirring and sucking sound that can only be associated with planes gathering speed for take-off, cutting into the air like a knife. The sound of the air rushing past jumped from one pitch to another every second, just before the final moment when physics fully takes over. Beautifully, almost impossibly so, the plane lifted from the tarmac, tires barely grazing the cement for a moment before breaking away from the ground completely. All of the passengers felt their stomachs flop, pulled back into their seats, the pressure in their heads slowly changing with the altitude.

'_I love G-forces_,' Laura thought with a crazed grin.

"The Bernoulli Principle… The single most gorgeous discovery in all of science," Laura whispered to herself, although the Professor heard her clearly. He silently agreed as the city became a children's toy set, the roads and highways becoming as thin and wiry as ones shown on maps and charts.

After gaining a favorable altitude, the typical protocol of the average flight began. The signal that granted permission to remove one's seatbelt lit up green, passengers taking liberty of the freedom to use the bathroom and stretch. Luke beamed as the food cart approached down the narrow aisle of the passenger bay. He called to the Professor across the aisle.

"Professor, surely I can have something from _this_ cart? I'm starving!"

"Me too," Flora groaned. "We haven't eaten since 8 this morning."

The Professor laughed lightly. "That was only two hours ago, my dear! If it pleases you so much, I'm sure you can get something small to share."

Elated, the children happily rattled off a few items to the stewardess that they intended to break between them.

"A bag of biscuits, some crisps, and perhaps a banana," Luke said proudly. "Fruit's a must!"

"And two cups of water, please," Flora muttered softly.

The Professor smiled, proud that Luke hadn't gone out of control with food spending.

"I guess I've taught him _something_—"

"Like how to read prices and add?" Laura chided him under her breath.

"Here you are, young man. £17 will be charged to the account associated with your ticket," the stewardess said cheerily, a fake smile at her lips as she handed the boy his prizes. Professor Layton coughed and scowled, making him splutter over his words.

"W-What? £17? The boy only bought a couple of light snacks!"

"Sir, the cost of petrol has caused many prices to increase, and the air travel industry is not exempt. The prices for food on all flights are clearly shown on the side of our carts for your convenience." She pulled the cart forward, the prices in plain view. Layton rested his elbow on the arm rest and leaned against his hand, covering his eyes in disbelief.

"£5 for a banana…"

"Can I interest you in a beverage, sir? We are serving alcohol on this flight, if you so choose to imbibe. I will warn you, however, that the airline has the right to restrict the sale of alcohol to any individual should the airline decide that the individual has consumed over his or her personal limit, thus becoming intoxicated."

Smiling weakly, the Professor shook his head. "No, thank you, miss. I'll do just fine without." He waited until she was out of earshot before turning to Laura, clearly agitated. "I was afraid to order tea. I might get charged for every minute I steep it!"

Laura laughed. "They get you on anything they can. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Well, at least they are happy," he noted, motioning to Luke and Flora, enjoying their snacks and plugging earphones into an animated film that was playing on the small screen hanging from the ceiling several rows ahead. "And they won't be able to hear us, which is what I was aiming for."

"How did you explain to them why any of this is currently happening? Surely you didn't tell them it's merely for leisure?"

"Nonsense. I just said that you needed some assistance with your business, and it required me to venture to the Italian peninsula. When I told them they needed to accompany us, they graciously accepted."

"Can't say I blame them," she shrugged.

Nodding, he tapped his armrest impatiently, as if waiting for his thoughts to begin whirring around in his head, preparing to brain storm. "Now then. I did some thinking late last night, and I have a few things to point out, as well as questions. We should lower our voices though, just to be sure no one is picking up our conversation."

"Shoot," Laura whispered. "I've got answers."

"First of all, I think it's safe to assume that Mr. Leopold Chancey had an agenda all along, given his sudden change in interests. Specifically, I believe he was searching for oil from the moment he contacted you. It answers the question of _why_ he was so preoccupied with oceans, and why he wanted a drill to specifically work _in_ the ocean. I'm not 100% sold on this theory, but it goes without saying that it's highly probable."

Laura nodded slowly, taking in his words. "Indeed, I thought likewise."

"Secondly, I continue to find it odd that many of those involved were released from their duties, yet you were kept around. You mentioned that several who were let go were recognized and well-versed in their field, so to speak. In no way am I trivializing your skills or questioning your engineering ken, but it still seems odd all the same that those more experienced in terms of how long they have actually been involved in their trade were not used for their immense knowledge. Even you admitted this." He eyed her suspiciously. "Do you have any idea as to why this was the case?"

"Only the fact that I pretty much built the entire thing myself. I came up with the blueprints, the initial logistics for where the drill could be placed…things like that. Others mostly just did my dirty work, meaning the trivial things, or helping work out kinks. Not that those things are simple, but… It was my work, my machine. I understood it the very best, as it was built on my methodology."

"I understand." The Professor placed his hand to his chin, contemplatively looking at the back of the seat in front of him. "I suppose that is fair to say. Just to get my bearings, tell me what we are going to Italy for, so that I can continue thinking about all this further."

Laura sighed, resting her back against the cushioned seat. "Ah yes, I suppose I didn't really elaborate on that, did I? I'm assigned to install a drill there. I'm meeting with the engineers in central Rome, then we're heading to the coast."

"Any reason for Italy?"

"Well, most importantly, and obviously—as I _am_ installing a drill, after all—Leopold has pretty solid proof of an oil reserve near the coast. Secondly, I've heard that he apparently used to live along the ocean with his parents. Guess he's a bit nostalgic? Who knows, really. Just a guess," she trailed off with a half shrug. "I suppose I'm dragging you along to maybe do some investigating. That's what you do best, right?"

Layton looked over at Luke and Flora, who together let out a combined shrill giggle. "I suppose so… Oh yes, and finally, I have one more thing. I've been wondering about this since the moment I opened it." He pulled a folded envelope out of his pocket. Certainly, it had seen better days, given the heavy creasing and indentations over the surface, but it wasn't completely tattered. "This. The strange paper that you sent to my flat just days ago."

Laura's eyes instinctively roved about the cabin, double checking that no one was looking in on them. "It won't matter even if you took it out. It's blank, as it will remain until you give it direction."

"D…Direction?" Layton stammered, looking at her inquisitively. "Whatever do you mean?"

"However, we must be extremely quiet about it. Preferably, I'd like to talk about this elsewhere…"

"If it's really that important, then it can wait. I don't want this all to be put in jeopardy so soon."

With a small giggle, Laura snorted. "You intend to put it in jeopardy _later_ then?"

"No, not my meaning, but…"

"Just giving you a hard time. I guess I lied about being troublesome." She opened her messenger bag and pulled out a small notepad and a pencil. "Some food for thought, for the remainder of the flight."

She scribbled something hurriedly on the notepad's white surface. Layton half expected something magical to happen, as was the case with the white page inside the envelope he was still holding. Laura ripped the paper from the binding and handed it to him, grinning.

"No talk about it now. But here's a grade school note. Aren't you going to reprimand me for passing around notes?"

Scoffing slightly, the Professor read the memo quickly, raising his eyebrows as he finished it.

_Knowing you, I wouldn't doubt that you're aware about it, at least to some degree._

_Ever heard of the __**Book of Memory**__?_

__END.

* * *

Tee hee hee. Review!


	26. CHAPTER 26: WHEN IN ROME

**Oh hello. Sorry for the delay. I've been dealing with life! Doctor appointment, fainting and falling flat on my face/bashing my head on the floor, crazy family, urinating cat, Chicago trip-planning, work, looking for **_**more**_** work, helping take care of my huge family…**

**The usual.**

**You get TWO puzzles in this chapter! They aren't very good (as I wrote them….), but…. And almost 10,000 words' worth of reading too! Needless to say, this is a long chapter. It took me a while to write. That's because I needed to sort out the details that all lay ahead, and I had to make sure things were said in this chapter that will make sense later. I'm sure somewhere there is a discrepancy, but…hopefully I've cleared my tracks!**

**I'm really looking forward to the chapters to come. Some funny and just fun parts are coming up. I'm trying to keep true to the Layton style. A bit of the fantastical, a bit of the realistic, a bit of the mechanical (as, there is a heavy focus on machinery in most of the games, if you haven't noticed….)….going to incorporate an animal as well, as each Layton game/story has at LEAST one. What, there was the robot dog, the hamster, the parrot, the fish, the little mouse that Luke used in the Magical Flute (Last Specter)…..SO I'M HAVING AN ANIMAL TOO, DANG IT ALL.**

**It will be….one of my favorites. :]**

**Your thoughts are most welcome. Your suggestions are also most welcome! REVIEWS, EVERYONE. :]**

**Also, if you are in the Chicago area or can be on the 28th (this Saturday), ACEN is taking place in Rosemont, just outside Chicago. I'm cosplaying as Makise Kurisu from Stein's;Gate. LOLZ. There are also 2 Professor Layton panels. I'll be going to half of the first one, and all of the second. I'm missing half of the 1****st**** because I'm also attending The Avicultural Society of Chicagoland (TASC)'s Midwest Bird Expo. Hopefully, I will be making pals with a few macaws, and maybe even a toucan of sorts…..**

**Anyways, your time and reviews are always most appreciated. If you find any failures on my part (misspellings, grammatical errors, flaws in details or of the story's chronology, lapses in judgment of making this thing canon), please don't hesitate to notify me. I'm obsessed with perfection.**

**Danke,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 26: WHEN IN ROME**

The plane touched down onto the Italian peninsula, landing without the Professor realizing it. His thoughts had been so clouded (no pun intended) and jumbled, he couldn't even recall that he'd exited the plane, picked up his luggage from the baggage claim, and forced himself into a taxi van between Luke and another passenger—a particularly large woman—who insisted that she tend to her make-up, no matter how many bumps and sharp turns the vehicle made its riders endure. Laura sat in the row just ahead with Flora, constantly glancing backward to make sure the portly woman didn't suffocate a portion of her company. When she wasn't checking in on the Professor, she was staring at the small raindrops cascading down the van's windshield, lost in her own series of thoughts. She compared herself with the rain, her path as open and unknown as each drop's, diving downward with gravity.

'_Getting carsick…_' she thought to herself, hoping the journey was almost finished.

Layton took in a huge gulp of air when they finally made it to their destination, a huge hotel with an equally impressive carport in the front.

"That…was the most trying car ride…I've ever experienced…." he said with some trouble, making sure their portly passenger was completely out of earshot. He wiped his brow and rearranged his hat, continuing to inhale and exhale forcibly as if he was trying to cleanse his respiratory system from any havoc the heavy lady's perfume had wrecked on his lungs.

They looked around only briefly before a skinny man opened the taxi's trunk, quickly removing their bags. Valets and bellboys ran about the concrete expanse, escorting all arrivals to the entrance and transporting their luggage and vehicles to their own unique destinations. It wasn't long before the Professor's group was being politely hurried into the building as well and the taxi puttered away.

Flora gasped as they entered the lobby. "What a lovely fountain!"

"And all these plants! It's like a jungle indoors!" Luke exclaimed, grabbing a broad leaf from some of the foliage that crept out from a vine on the wall. "Is this real?"

"Indeed," Laura muttered with an interested smile. "Smell it? This whole place is crawling, living. Even the fountain is being fed from a small tributary that runs straight through the place."

"What?" The children ran to a window, only half believing her. Layton walked up beside Laura, shaking his head.

"The place is almost _too_ extravagant, don't you think?"

"Petrolite is rolling in dough. Do you think they'd let me stay in any place _other_ than the best of lodging?" she asked, feigning disgust of any lesser accommodations. "Nothing is too extravagant when one will not reside in anything below 5-star, Hershel. Haha, you know I'm only joking."

"Your joking is rather believable…"

"I don't choose the places, I just _go_. Hey, I'm not complaining, though! This place has anything you could ever think of wanting. Pools, gyms, spa, restaurant, 24-hour lounges, room service… I've only heard about this place, but it's indeed the playground of royalty and politicians. Anyway, enjoy yourself. Pretend you're a king, or just a lowly Parliament slave who gets to scoot in here by the seat of his pants. Either way, I'll go get us checked in."

Layton watched her amble carefully across the golden tiles, cutting through the many tourists and passersby that merely wanted a glimpse of the interior, unable to actually stay in the place for lack of funds. She still resembled a child, but one loaded with responsibility and cynicism. He couldn't help but smile.

'_I guess that's still the same…_'

He collected Luke and Flora and led them to the elevators, waiting for Laura to join them. Soon enough, she made her way slowly over to them, waving three room cards in the air.

"Got 'em. One for me, one for the Professor, one for you two," she said, handing a card to Luke. "Make sure you don't lose it. Now then, to room #939…"

"939?" Layton gasped as they entered the lift. "We should have quite the view, from that high up. I'd quite like to take a look around the area, walk around town, if you three don't mind. I haven't been here in Rome for years."

Laura looked at Luke and Flora, knowing they wouldn't care much for sight-seeing. They kept their grumbling to themselves, but looked at their feet in a way that spoke volumes about their genuine disinterest. "I don't think they're keen on exploring… Perhaps they can enjoy some of the amenities the hotel has to offer?"

"As much as I'd like for them to enjoy such activities," he said with a tone of regret, "I'm not exactly in a position to pay for such things."

The elevator dinged, signaling that they had reached the ninth floor. They stepped out and began looking for their room.

"It's company paid," Laura said. "This trip is all-expenses paid. Sight-seeing tours, restaurants…" She looked back and forth at the door numbers as they ventured further down the hall, figuring out the pattern so she could find their room more quickly. "And I let you in on this little trek, so surely you can enjoy yourself. Think of it as a gift from me to you. A thank you!"

Layton's stomach lurched a bit, Laura's over-the-shoulder smirk leaving him mentally struggling. He still wasn't sure what all this was even about, and her cryptic tones and language were off-putting in their own right.

Luke whooped as he pointed at their room's door. "939! We're finally here!" He shoved his card into the thin slot, the little light on the lock turning green. He twisted the handle and opened the door carefully. Within moments, the beginning of the vast, winding suite was exposed. Luke allowed the door to swing open on its own as the group stood at the entrance, their jaws dropped.

It was like an ancient Roman temple in miniature, pillars and smooth floor tiles permitting the light to bounce off of them and reflect around the room freely, even to the cathedral ceilings. The windows on the farthest part of the room could hardly contain the outdoor landscape within their frames, the city extending beyond them. It was like a portrait, but almost tangible, were they not nine stories high. A sitting area was prepared to their immediate right, bowls of fruit and plates of antipasto laid out graciously on chilled stone plates. Beyond the living room to the left of the windows was a bedroom, separated by a wall but revealed partially through wide French doors. The rest of the suite remained to be explored.

"My word…" Layton croaked dryly after several moments of taking in the scenery. He was thoroughly impressed. "This is quite the lodging indeed. I'm actually honored to be staying in such accommodations…"

"I'm afraid to enter," Luke whispered, removing his shoes. Flora replied with a small squeak.

"Afraid you might disturb some Roman god with your foot crumbs and mortal dirt?" Laura laughed, cutting through the other three 'statues' and entering into the room's undisturbed sterility. "It's brilliant, isn't it? No detail spared. I haven't stayed here before, so it's my first time as well. Much nicer than the last place I was at, and that place was posh in its own right." She walked about, helping the others to not feel so hesitant in 'breaking' the room's silent beauty. "Our luggage will be here soon. Shall we claim beds? Always the best part to argue over…"

They continued into the bedroom visible from the main area, then into a master bedroom. It had the same windows as the living room, looking over the city. Luke scratched his head, looking at Flora with a funny expression on his face. "There's….only two beds and the sofa, but four people…..Flora can have the bed, and I'll take the sofa, but that leaves only one bed for…" He attempted to stifle a snort. "Professor, you have to—"

"_Luke and I_, as gentlemen, will gladly take the sofas in the front room, we'll manage," Layton forcibly interrupted, his face brushed with pink. His smile was just as strained as the tone in his voice. "Laura will have the master. Flora, the additional bedroom. Problem solved."

"But, Professor, there's—"

"That's quite enough, Luke."

"I was only going to say that you have to—"

"_Luke,_ _please_," he hissed, patience waning. Flora coughed, a bit confused at the Professor's uncharacteristic tone, as Laura cocked her head to the side, looking at Layton curiously.

"Is there…a problem?" she asked with a knowing grin. "What's with those ruddy cheeks? Luke only wants to verbalize his thoughts, so go ahead, Luke."

Luke shrugged, eyeing the Professor carefully. "I was only trying to say the Professor would have to sleep in the bathtub, since there's only the master bed left for you, Laura! Flora gets the other bed, and I get the sofa."

"Oh, is that all?" Laura chortled, amused at the Professor's now flustered expression. She couldn't resist milking the hilarity of the situation for all it was worth as she turned to face him slowly, smirking a devilish grin.

Layton's nervousness died instantly, but a fresh brew of embarrassment scalded his sense of pride. The children shrugged, Luke shaking his head.

"You're not quite yourself. Maybe you just need some tea, Professor! Personally, I'm starving, so maybe you're hungry as well."

"Perhaps…" He cleared his throat.

'_I…guess it doesn't do well to assume…_' Layton thought to himself, his brain a tangled mess. '_I would have put money on it that he was going to say something absurd, like…that I'd have to share a bed or something…._

'_I'm losing the ability to maintain my sanity in all this…It's as if I'm not myself; my thinking is skewed…What's _wrong_ with me?_'

A light knock at the door told them their luggage had arrived. Laura quickly removed herself from the room, leaving the Professor to a quick sigh and Luke and Flora to their own devices, their attention recaptured by the room's many opulent details. Laura shortly after returned, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, luggage is all here. Barely. Luke, your bag weighs a _ton_, what on earth did you bring?"

"Um…well, I thought I'd—"

"Actually, just save it. I can find out later. Shall we go on a bit of an adventure then?"

Luke jumped past both adults and ran into the other room. "Yes, let's! This place has changed my mind about Rome, after all."

"And here I was, thinking it was only old, crusty ruins!" Flora laughed, delighted. The Professor grunted in disapproval, personality returning in a rush.

"_Only_ old, crusty ruins? My, children really don't have an appreciation for marvels these days…"

Laura busied herself with her own luggage, looking for something. "You mean to tell me you loved history and ancient artifacts, catacombs…coliseums? All when you were but a rascal of a human being?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I beg your honesty!" Laura giggled. "Honestly, Hershel, I'm ashamed you think so lowly of children. They're _children_ after all, not stuffy old profs like yourself."

"My, there you go again with—"

"They have a higher sense of wonder and awe, a sense of amazement belonging to a higher plane. They surely won't marvel at the wonders of the earth in an academic way, as you would. You analyze and tear apart; they innocently accept. Let them actually _see_ the Coliseum. Let it speak for itself. Don't kill it with an archaeologist's lecture."

After a few moments, their shoes were replaced onto their feet and everyone had what they needed before exiting the room. With their room locked, they made their way back to the lift, Luke and Flora racing to the button panel. Professor Layton cleared his throat, smiling.

"Seems you still know how to teach," he mused, keeping his pace with Laura's. She glanced over, catching his characteristic smile from the side.

"More than ever. You know I never wanted to leave childhood."

"In some ways I don't think you ever did leave."

"It's more pleasing, and calming, to think like a child. It's innocence. It's beautiful. Most adults have lost that."

"Well, it's helpful, since you can guide the lost back to it with such ease." He found it in him to laugh, a genuine chuckle. His nervousness ebbed and flowed like an unsure stream, waning and waxing without any control. At the moment, however, he felt…carefree.

'_Maybe it's my subconscious, the fantasy and romantic quality of this ancient city… When in Rome, I suppose!_'

He smiled to himself. "Shall we get something to eat first?"

"I don't' know about 'we'," she said with a grimace, proceeding to a low whining grumble. "You know I hate Italian food."

'_...or…perhaps not too romantic…_' he thought with an internal chuckle as they entered the elevator, smiling as the doors closed at the center.

* * *

The group found itself taking to the streets in a light rain, hardly enough for an umbrella, but enough to mist one's clothes with silvery webbing between the finer threads of one's shirt and trousers. Winding through the throngs of people, they tried (ultimately with fail) to avoid the deeper pits in the cobblestone walkway, afraid to soak their shoes in the clear yet deceiving puddles that had accumulated.

Finally, they came across a very wide establishment, a restaurant that took up the equivalent of three average storefronts. The ground and upper floors were open to the view of passersby, occupied dining tables and chairs lining the area despite the drizzle. Lights were strung across the ceiling, the rough, weathered beams dotted with radiant yellow pin-pricks that glittered as the warm rain fell around them at the ceiling's edge. Dark, green ivy stretched its stalks and wove its unmoving fingers through the railings, apathetically catching raindrops and—as for the upper level foliage—letting them drip onto unawares customers below.

The scene was fuzzy and relaxing, almost like a painting from fiction. The whole place could have been cut out and placed in a frame, captured forever above someone's fireplace or in a dining room. It was a feeling that didn't need words, and even if one tried to describe it, they would have failed in any language.

Laura snapped her fingers, pleased. "This is the place. It's a perfect place, as my instinct tells me."

"Indeed, it's a very charming restaurant, straight from a story book," the Professor agreed, taking in the environment, the light chatter, the energy that calmly oozed from the scene. "Quite the romantic choice though, I must say, Laura," he continued as the children walked ahead through the two entrance doors, smelling the air with amusement. "Don't tell me you're into the emotional and subjective now, hmm?"

With a brief glare, she chuckled. "I've always liked this sort of environment. Innocent fun, a pleasurable atmosphere with food, drink, friends, family. It's relaxing, it's revitalizing. There's no poking fun, no blatant debauchery, no demeaning, raunchiness to it. It's all basic entertainment. There's an energy here." She took in a deep breath. "Smells great, tastes terrible. Welcome to Italy…"

"Now, now, you shouldn't judge it all so quickly."

A hostess smiled at them from afar, careening down the aisle and through a large party that was finally being seated.

"_Benvenuti_, welcome to Rulli's," she said when she reached them, talking boldly above all the sound. Her accent was unquestionably Italian, but it was apparent that her practice of English (due to all of the tourists) was constant. "Four in your party?"

The Professor nodded. "Indeed, miss. May I request seating on the uppermost level, perhaps on the balcony if it is available?"

"Right this way," she said with a wide grin, leading them forward. "I'll try to fit you in on the mezzanine."

They were seated, waited upon, served, and fed within the hour, despite the crowd. Laura stuck to the most anti-pasta, non-Italian dish on the menu whereas the others reveled in the authentic cuisine. After about an hour's worth of conversation, exhausting all possible topics that Luke and Flora would be interested in while digesting their heavy meal, the children asked to wander about the restaurant to look at the small lobby down below, and perhaps get a better view (and perhaps a _bite_) of the on-site bakery.

With a slight wave of his hand and a permitting smile, the Professor allowed the children to go toss coins in the indoor fountain and take a look at the desserts and pastries in a wide display case on the lower level of the restaurant. He loved them both dearly, but was anticipating some privacy all day and evening, and gladly seized the opportunity for some time to speak openly without minors present.

"You're letting them go off?" Laura questioned with some surprise.

"They won't run amok like younger children. They're bright, they won't get themselves into trouble," he reasoned, leaning forward with his hands folded on the table. "Besides, it's the closest to alone we'll ever be on this venture."

Laura laughed. "_Alone_, huh? That's rather frank," she mumbled, the faintest purr in her voice, as she rested her chin in her palm.

"Not like that…" Layton's cheeks turned red as he felt her eyes staring, trying to pry more out of him. "I want to talk about purely adult affairs…"

"Ooo, now it's _adult affairs_. …Still frank." She snorted softly, rolling her eyes.

"You know what I mean!"

"Indeed." She gave him a sarcastic sneer, holding her gaze on him. She sensed his resolve buckling, grinning in triumph when he finally laughed.

"Okay, fine, it's funny. I'm…just not used to this. This…this sort of business…"

"Now it's business? Okay, back to important things then!" She giggled, feeling a bit childish for carrying on with such antics as he looked at her with fake frustration, his eyes squinted. "Okay, okay, I'll stop playing with you. Honestly though, Hershel, let's take this opportunity to discuss some things. Tomorrow, 8 AM, I'll be talking with some contractors and engineers about installing my drill off the coast. In the meantime, I want you to use that intuition and intellect of yours to do some…investigating, if you will."

The Professor nodded slowly, looking at the corner of the table. "Yes, it's a shame you don't know more about your employer. I would like some sort of start, a place to begin. Is there even a rumor, any gossip about Mr. Leopold?"

"His whole being is shadowed. I know little about him for _certain_, other than his involvement with oil, and hiring me. However…" she dropped her voice's volume significantly, looking about her, "I did tell you he used to live here, in Italy. Perhaps you should try looking about for his parents, asking them some things? I'm not sure how keen they are about revealing information about the Chancey family, but… You could certainly try. You knew Edward Senior well, and that should account for something. Maybe try to find some Chancey family friends, some servants… I'm certain they'd have those."

"Where did they live?"

"Along the coast, in some place called Ostia, from what I've heard. It's about half an hour from here, and 15 minutes from the place I'll be, in Fiumicino. You can take the train to speed things up. Even if you find nothing, there's always the memory of the coast that you get to take home. It's a lovely spot for visitors, and even citizens of Rome go there for light vacationing. Lots of ruins too," she said with a sheepish grin. She absentmindedly rubbed her hands together, the drizzled rain just barely blowing into the balcony. "I really do appreciate you coming out here, dropping everything, with really no lead at all. I just…didn't know what to do. I thought that two heads are better than one, in the end. And yours is the only other one I can currently trust."

He hid his shame behind a fake smile. Truly, he didn't want to help at all. It was mostly his own guilty conscience that made him go along with Laura's observations about the man behind England's oil problems. He blamed his gentlemanly code, knowing that were he to ignore her, he'd regret it forever, based solely on the fact that he didn't help someone in need.

But…there was also the past…his want of atonement…his _need_ of atonement…

"Yes, you are very much correct. Two heads are better…" He shook off his pity and let his mind return to the task at hand. "Okay, but…as for the _Book_…"

"Oh, yes, that. Let's just call it 'the artifact' for secrecy's sake."

"Very well. I _have_ heard of the artifact you mentioned on the aeroplane," the Professor said while picking at the remainder of his pasta mindlessly. "It's one of the greatest mysteries from the time directly following the Middle Ages, around the Enlightening. The artifact itself has been missing for quite some time. It continuously gets stolen, found, stolen again. My biggest and most pressing questions are: how did you manage to come across it, and where is it now, at this moment?"

With a disappointed sigh, Laura tapped her fingers lightly against the top of the table. "Those questions currently…I don't have the answers to." She had given up on her own dish, instead taking small sips of water occasionally. "All I know is that Leopold used it a few times in my presence, for what reason, I do not know. Actually, he didn't know that I was watching him, taking note of what he was doing. And after some extremely brief research, I decided to sneak a few pages out of it for my own use. I've been doing some…experiments, to find out its secrets."

"_You_? _You_ are interested in ancient artifacts?" he chortled, thoroughly amused. "Doing _research _and _experiments_ even!"

"Shut 's not your average artifact. It's not like some stupid rock or rudimentary caveman tool that you wanna clean up and stow away in some museum case! Although those are still a bit interesting…" She rolled her eyes and decided to ignore the Professor's mild scoffing at her admission of archaeological studies being somewhat enjoyable. "As for its location now, I have no idea whatsoever. Leopold most likely still has it, but it's hidden."

Layton let the humor from the situation die, and then groaned in frustration, as if he'd just lost a very financially risky gamble. He shook his head. "It's been missing for some time. Its whereabouts have been unknown for a few years now, and right after it was just recovered too! I don't understand why the thing has such terrible luck and can't remain in one place for more than a couple of years at a time. It's like a very coveted, rare piece of artwork."

"Are you fond of the thing? You seem….angered."

"Merely annoyed, nothing more," he said, regaining composure. He closed his eyes and smiled. "The Book of Memory, in the wrong hands, could be dangerous. Do you truly know its purpose, its reason for use? As I have heard, and have seen firsthand from the page you sent me in the post, it lists connections, or memories, shared by two people."

"Yes, yes," Laura concurred, nodding furiously, "and what's more, it's rather detailed, hardly vague, and mighty accurate. For instance, I might forget something that I did with you years ago, something so insignificant as passing you at the grocery. Yet, it will pick it up, write it in the list, as if I'd written it in a diary years ago. I don't know exactly _how_ the book works, but I have the theory that these memories and thoughts remain stored in our subconscious minds somewhere, and sometimes, even triggers in our environment won't remind us of them. But…this book…it knows. Somehow."

"Indeed. Back in a time before security cameras and extensive record keeping—when eye witness accounts were one's only form of proof—criminal cases without justified verdicts gave rise to the supposed need for such a tool." It was apparent that the Professor had finally hit the point in the conversation he relished most: presentation of historical background. His vocal speed increased as he talked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, staring straight ahead at Laura, but not really looking into her eyes."It is commonly believed throughout archaeological circles that the Book of Memory was created by a frustrated constable who found the judicial system poor. Whether this is myth or truth is another story.

"Criminals were aplenty, but who was truly innocent? Legend has it that the constable wanted a way to link the supposed 'guilty' to the victims of the crimes, to find the truth. So, he turned to the dark arts. The story goes that he successfully managed to create a way to link two people, to list their memories, their involvement with events with one another. It was like an impartial recorder of facts, a truth serum of sorts. For centuries, it was used by honest judges and corrupt officials alike. It was juggled from kings to peasants to mafia lords. Until the modern era, it was used for a variety of reasons, including those that drove their user to madness, such as paranoia."

Laura blinked. "I'm amazed there's so much known about this. It was hard enough finding information on it from historians! Yet you know so much. Is this information hidden?"

"I pry into things that…I probably shouldn't," the Professor said with a meek grin. "It doesn't surprise me that you found nothing. Everything I know about it is based on years of fact collecting, and from very distinguished historians who keep the subject of their research close, and their research's secrets closer. Whether or not the information holds true, again, that's something that I don't know."

The waitress returned to the table, refilling glasses of water and taking the empty plates. "May I interest you in dessert?"

"Why yes. Do you carry raspberry gelato?" Professor Layton said airily. "I'd like some of that if you do."

"Of course, sir. And…you?"

Laura shook her head. "I'm okay." After waiting for the waitress to walk away, she snorted. "Raspberry gelato? What a girly dessert."

"Hardly! You musn't judge it before you try."

"Well, as you were saying…"

"Oh, yes…" He looked at Laura scornfully, then resumed his former composure. "Anyway, about that artifact, it can make one obsessed with the past, obsessed with connections, associations. It's driven some kings and those in power to become paranoid and obsessive, causing them to murder anyone working under them, merely for imagined, suspicious activity and any slight lead from the Book that there was conspiracy underfoot. Some things just shouldn't be recorded, shouldn't be kept so…closely documented. And if they are, they must only be uncovered by a stable person."

Laura nodded, a sad look in her eyes. "Yes…I know that more than any. At the same time, when used properly, it can be exceedingly helpful."

"I'm already counting the ways… What a tool for Scotland Yard! I have an inspector friend who would put this to terrific use…"

At that moment, Luke and Flora returned to the side of the table with giggles and weak yawns.

"Whoop! Someone's getting tired!" Laura said with a slight laugh. "Shall we head out after the Professor's prissy dessert?"

"It is _not_ prissy!"

"Oh, so sorry: _sissy_ dessert." She smirked playfully as he waited amidst Luke and Flora's chortling. He sighed, disgruntled.

"The things I do for my students…"

* * *

Luke and Flora had drifted off during an episode of some Italian show that resembled "The Three Stooges", black and white slapstick antics blinking across the screen regardless of whether they had an attentive audience or not. Professor Layton pulled a couple of light blankets from a linen closet and covered the children before dimming the lights. Silently, he tiptoed through the dark bedroom and into the master suite.

"Manners, Professor, manners…" Laura was seated on the bed, staring at a stack of papers she was holding. She was dressed in a black, fleece robe a couple of sizes too big for her.

"I knocked lightly. I thought you heard it."

"No big deal. Not like I was undressing or something. Ah ha! Got you to blush!" Organizing her things, she stuffed the papers into a small luggage bag. "Anyway, what's up?"

"I'll be taking Luke and Flora along with me tomorrow morning. They can assist me in my investigation. Do you mind?"

She shrugged. "Not really, but I didn't think you wanted them involved."

"I don't, but Luke's quite the developing detective. He tends to point out certain details that I might have passed over and wouldn't have picked up at all, were he not so observant. Flora adds in where she can."

"Speaking of Luke, who'd have known he'd packed his _entire_ wardrobe and every stuffed animal known to man."

"That…I had no knowledge of. Hopefully the airline didn't charge extra…"

"Not my dime! As for the children accompanying you, it's completely up to yourself. Just try to keep things under wraps, whatever you find. Also, I think you should leave and head out a bit after I do, to defray any…possible suspicion. I should be finished around midday." She turned to him and smiled tiredly. "Hopefully, you get some sort of lead."

"Yes…hopefully." He felt the need to say something further, but couldn't think of anything. It was as if he was in the presence of someone with whom he didn't know how to communicate, not someone with whom he'd shared his most intimate of experiences. He started out the door. "I suppose I'll be off to bed then."

Laura nodded, raising her eyebrows. "Me as well. Have a good night, Professor."

"P-Professor?" he stammered, turning back to face her.

"Yes. Professor. What's wrong with that? That's what you are, right?"

"I suppose…nothing. There's nothing wrong with it, it's just—well, never mind. Have a pleasant evening."

He closed the door behind him, enveloping his body and mind in a shroud of black, void of any light save whatever came through the windows from the moon and stars. He wondered why her uttering the word 'Professor' made him think twice, the address sounding foreign—at least, from her—in his ears. Perhaps it was old expectation, to be called 'Hershel' all the time…

He walked to his bed, heavily lowering himself into it. He fell asleep, staring sideways out the window, contemplating the mixed emotions still cluttering his mind.

The next morning came quickly, the sun blasting the Professor in the face with warm rays. He looked at the small alarm clock on the nightstand, right next to his top hat.

"8 AM… Laura must have left not too long ago…." He threw the blanket off of him and let his legs swing over the side of the mattress, his feet burrowing into plush, warm carpet as they touched the floor. He found his luggage, gathering a change of clothing and his bathroom essentials before taking to the bathroom.

After cleaning up, he found Luke and Flora already changed and ready for the day, whatever it had prepared.

"Oh, good morning, both of you," the Professor said cheerfully. "Are you ready to start the day?"

"Are we ever!" Luke shouted with a punch to the air. "I'm going to investigate this like I've never investigated before!"

Layton grimaced awkwardly, nervously. "I-Investigate? Whoever said anything about—"

"We aren't fools, Professor," Flora giggled. "We're here to help Laura out, aren't we?"

"Well, I—"

"'Well' nothing, Professor! We're going to figure this whole mad oil man out, plain and simple! Now, let's head to the free breakfast. I'm starving!"

Mouth agape, nerves fried (and it wasn't yet half past 8), Layton shook his head slowly as the girl and boy threw open the hotel door, racing into the hall as if on cue. He raked his brain, searching for a time when they could have possibly picked up on the reason for their trip to Italy.

'_I've said _nothing _around them…How could they have known?_ _Children really are nothing short of amazing…_'

Three stuffed stomachs later, the group made its way to the streets, weaving through tourists, restaurant regulars, citizens, church goers, and the occasional pick pocket with a foot cop trailing behind miserably. Two blocks from the hotel, the Professor waved down a cab. He made sure to try and throw off anyone attempting to trail them. Before long they had made their way to a train station and were traveling quickly towards the coast.

"Since you two are keener than I thought," Professor Layton began, diverting Luke and Flora's attention away from the blur of scenery outside the train window, "I'll be more direct with you. It's true: we are conducting an investigation of sorts. However, it's imperative that both of you keep any and all details between us three, and Laura. This entire thing is wholly based on speculation, and I suspect perhaps a bit of paranoia on Laura's part, although I can't say my intuition wouldn't be acting up either, were I in her place…"

"What do you take us for, Professor? Kids?" Luke laughed, astonished. "I know better than to share anything. I wouldn't go around telling people anything about Leopold or—"

"_Luke_, hold your tongue," the Professor whispered harshly, Flora gasping at his side. "This is precisely what I'm talking about. Don't speak of anything. Just…record your information with grace, and hold onto what you know responsibly. That's what a gentleman does."

The boy, now red faced, grimaced and nodded. "Heh heh, sure thing, Professor…"

Within 30 minutes, the train screeched to a halt, and all of the passengers—including the trio—exited the cars. Layton nodded in agreement to Luke and Flora's reaction to the salty breeze.

"It's so clean and crisp!" Flora shouted. "I do hope we have time to visit the beach…"

"Sure we will, Flora," Luke said reassuringly. "The Professor loves the beach."

"You know what we have to do first and foremost though," said Professor Layton, who began to leave the train behind. "Follow me."

They began their trek by leaving the station and covering a sufficient stretch of ground on foot. After about 10 minutes of leisurely walking and scouting the area for what seemed like a good place to start their investigation, they stumbled across an affluent neighborhood. The road that granted access was blocked by a gate, as well as a bored and sullen looking guardsman in a small booth that resembled a cramped chapel. The Professor, with a small hand signal, motioned for the children to walk behind him and not say a word.

"Excuse me, my good man," he started, waiting until the guard looked up from his morning newspaper. "I was wondering if—"

"You lose your keycard?" the gatekeeper asked with a shallow sigh. "Again, another loss."

"I'm sorry, but I think there's been a misunder—"

"No keycard then? You want a guest pass?" He yawned and smacked his lips, obviously bored out of his mind with the lack of action around the place. What was happening at the moment was most likely the only form of human interaction he had had all day, and possibly _would_ have all day. The man leaned across his little desk and pulled out a paper from a small stack, then handed it to the Professor.

Layton stood staring, thoroughly confused, but accepted the paper graciously. One glance at it told him all he needed to know.

"Ah, a puzzle."

"That's all it takes to get into this—ouch!" Luke grumbled as Flora pinched him on the arm.

"Don't make him suspect us! The Professor will get it in no time and we'll be in!"

"Yes, I'll…solve this momentarily…" He read the puzzle aloud to the children.

"_If you plan on eating, you need one. The Tiber River is just as hungry.  
__The answer is as plain as the mouth on your face. Take note:  
__Only Stupidity Tries Inventing Answers._"

(_To the readers: this one isn't really readily solvable unless you have certain background information….but you can still try to solve it if you want!_)

Luke exhaled sharply. "Well, the only thing stupid is this puzzle! There's no clue anywhere in that one!"

"Luke, mind your choice of words. I've told you to not speak harshly, but rather weigh in on the situation and judge it fairly. After all, there are plenty of hints in this. Look closer… What do you need to eat?"

"Well, food, for one. And I suppose money to buy your food?"

"Think more basically. Let me rephrase: what do you need _in order_ to eat?"

After a few seconds, Flora snapped her fingers. "A mouth! 'The answer is as plain as the _mouth_ on your face'!"

"Very clever, Flora, my dear," Layton complimented with enthusiasm. "However, that's not the answer. At least, it's not the answer in its correct form. Tell me, do you know what city we're in?"

"I think the conductor said we'd arrived in 'Ostia'…'Ostia'… 'Ostia' something or other. Something like that. But what does that have to do with anything?" Luke asked, shrugging. "Sounds like some fancy words, is all."

With a chuckle, Layton shook his head. "I suppose it is too difficult for someone without background knowledge on the place. You see, Ostia was an ancient Roman city, but it was not named arbitrarily. The Latin word 'ostia' referred to a 'mouth of a river', and the city of Ostia was near the _mouth_ of the Tiber River. The last sentence of the puzzle spells it out as an expanded acronym: '**O**nly **S**tupidity **T**ries **I**nventing **A**nswers'. Don't tell me you merely tried _inventing_ an answer, Luke?"

Groaning in contrast to the Professor's chuckle, Luke clapped his hands together. "Another toughey, solved and smoothed out by our one and only…I'm guessing not many guests get in here…"

"I wonder what it takes to _move_ in!" said Flora with a sigh and a sideways glance.

Layton penciled in the answer, which made the guardsman raise his eyebrows in amusement. Within moments, they were handed a special card to carry as a guest, and the gate was opened. They made their way down the beautiful avenue, admiring the unique coastal scenery and architecture of those wealthy enough to live on such opulent grounds. The ocean peeked out between each grand villa and beautiful mansion.

"This is quite the neighborhood, don't you think?" Layton asked with a light sigh.

Near the curb in front of a particularly large estate was a group of landscapers, dumping grass clippings and pruned branches into a large bucket. They paused and stared questioningly as Layton, Luke, and Flora approached.

"Excuse me, do you mind me asking a few questions?" the Professor began, slightly taken aback when one of them quickly shook his head back and forth multiple times, holding up a hand, palm out. The man ran off yelling something in Italian, and within moments was hurrying along a wizened old woman, her gnarled hands twisted around the handles of a rusty wheel barrow. She said something hastily to the man, then grumbled, rubbing her lower back.

"I'm not what I used to be… Good day to you, sir. It's been a while since I heard English. At least, that's what Roni here told me you speak. I'll believe it when I hear it!"

"Indeed," Layton spoke with a smile. "First of all, might I ask whether you need any help with that wheel barrow?"

Smiling, she shook her head. "Nice young men like yourself don't come through here often, but I'm just fine doing this on my own. No need to dirty your hands for my sake. Off to the local farmer's market, as a matter of fact. The master enjoys his veggies fresh. Is there something I can help _you_ with?"

"Well, if you don't mind me taking up a little of your time, could you tell me who you work for exactly?" The woman stared at her wheel barrow and back up into Layton's face, her expression a bit hardened.

"Someone as classy as you shouldn't need it, but if you're looking for a handout, you need to go somewhere else. Now, you must be a smart boy, to get in as a guest. I've never seen you here before, so you must certainly be a guest. But you won't get anything monetary here. No, I won't tell you who I work for." She made to turn towards the direction of her quarry but stopped short when the Professor started talking again.

"You misunderstand, madam. We're neither panhandling nor soliciting. I'm merely trying to catch up with an old friend, but I don't know where he currently resides in this town," he continued, still smiling. "Do you by any chance know about the Chancey's?"

Although withered and worn, the woman's face lit up and flushed with color. It was obvious there was something about the word, the very mention of the name, that ignited an emotion of some sort within her. "You must not have had contact for many years then. That name hasn't been heard around here in years. I do not know of anything specific, but many of my fellow maids do. One used to care for them. But I must warn you: do you have an ear for Italian gossip?" She grabbed hold of the barrow again and coughed. "Come, follow old Rosella into town. I'll find you some girls with plenty of information. My, I hear an accent to my English, it's been so long since I've used it…"

With a flash of a smile at the children, Layton nodded. "I'm truly grateful, Rosella, thank you."

"Well," she croaked, glancing behind her, "I wouldn't thank me just yet. You won't be getting any information without a test first…"

They walked for half a mile until they reached a small, bustling market, tables upon tables of fresh produce stacked high in pyramids and in small boxes. Customers—adults and children alike—haggled and argued with vendors for fair hard prices, flitting from one booth to the next while searching for the perfect bargain.

The little old lady led them further into the cacophony and finally under a tent. She greeted three other women, just as weathered as her, in a foreign tongue.

"Young man, these are my maid friends. We care for those up on the hill, in that neighborhood you were just at. Any news of anything, concerning anybody, is heard here first. Whatever you need to know, these girls will know."

The Professor gave a slight bow and tip of his hat. "Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Hershel Layton, and I'm a professor of—"

"No need to introduce yourself so formally, young man," one of the woman called out. "We're all family here." Rosella and the others laughed and agreed vocally.

"Well said. Yuka, he wants to know about the Chancey's."

One of the women—the one apparently named Yuka—gasped and shook her head. She held a hand over her heart. "The Chancey's. Oh, young man, I haven't heard of that name in years. Son, I used to work for the Chancey's, how do you know them? I've never seen a man like you around. Regardless, you won't be getting any information out of any of us without some proof of your character." The surrounding women called out again in agreement. "As is our custom, you must pass our little test," the woman continued. "For a sharp looking youngster like you, it won't require you so much as a bat of your eye!"

"It's like a cult…of _old ladies_," Luke whispered, Flora giggling in quiet response. They were both more interested in the luscious fruits lining the tables around them, the tantalizing food attracting their attention more than the lucky lead that they had just stumbled upon. The Professor, on the other hand, forgot about the children momentarily as his brain began firing off, excited that he may have just found the perfect collection of information, gossip or not. However, he wondered if getting the info he sought would be possible, considering how private these women seemed to be. He began to understand Yuka as being the impromptu leader of the little soiree, and wondered if her boldness would create a challenge too difficult to get through, given their limited amount of time in the town.

After a moment's though, he smiled.

"I will gladly take your test, but to answer your initial question, I am a friend of the family, and have unfortunately fallen out of contact with them due to the many paths that life has led me on. I would like to catch up with them, as I conveniently am in the area for my work."

"Your work? Do you make a career out of oil?" the woman asked curiously.

"I'll give you more answers, should you answer my questions first," Layton said smugly, yet politely. The women giggled girlishly, sharing sideways glances.

"Aren't you clever!" Yuka cried out, laughing genially. "Very well, fair enough. You only have to answer this riddle, and we'll be glad to share our vast knowledge with you."

Luke groaned, taking a large bite of an apple (that he had snuck from a bruised pile). "That'sh the shekond one taday!" he said messily through chewed up bits of his fruit. "Can't we jusht get anshers, plain and shimple?"

"Luke, we'll abide by the group's wishes. That's what a gentleman does." He turned back to the women. "I'll have you all know, I'm a puzzle connoisseur, but you can try me with your best."

"Very well," Yuka stated loudly. "Here is our favorite one:

_ Go, go, traveler, you can find me in town.  
__All you need do is take a look down.  
__More often than not, I'm busy covering ground,  
__as everyone goes walking and running around._

_All creatures will die, this is not news.  
__After all, living things do not get to choose.  
__Heaven for the kind, numbering few.  
__Hell for the ones with self-serving view._

_I have a soul, though I will not leave,  
__Even heaven I won't achieve.  
__Nor even Hell, to earth I cleave.  
__No brain have I, to think or believe._

_A human spirit after death should soar.  
__From earth, free forever more.  
__But what for those from history's lore  
__that make simpler, your everyday chore?_

_What of those used as stepping stone,  
__to step on, leap from, to your throne?  
__I have a witness, though not a clone,  
__With my reflection, I'm never alone._

_Go, go, traveler, you can find me in town.  
__All you need do is take a look down.  
__A tongue I have, but no mouth to frown.  
__Doomed to dust, doomed to drown._

(_The answer's coming up, so if you want to solve, reader, don't read ahead too far!_)

"Hmm…well let's see here…." Layton thought aloud. "Something in town, can be seen looking…down" He walked about the stuffy tent, staring at the ground beneath him. The group of women looked pensively at his every move, awaiting a change in his deep thought. "Perhaps I don't need to go into town at all…"

'_A soul? It has a soul…yet no brain, and no mouth, but has a tongue…How could something possess a soul, yet no brain…?_

'_It must make tasks easier, as is stated by 'that make simpler your everyday chore'…and it's never alone, apparently. A witness, a reflection…_'

Luke looked at Flora, who looked back at him worriedly. "What if…he can't solve it? We've just ruined a possible chance to get some really good information!"

"Flora, you're going to doubt the Professor?" Luke retorted quietly, his eyes back on the Professor. "He'll have this…he will."

The boy wiped the sweat from his brow, wondering how the Professor could wear such a hat, in such weather.

'_At least, I hope he will! And soon. I'm boiling in this place!_'

In that moment, without any warning or change of his walking pace, Professor Layton looked up and shouted. "Aha! I've got it! All this talk of ground and dust and tongues and souls, not to mention, a subtle mention of a 'pair'. Ladies, whoever came up with this riddle, they are very clever with their words and imagery. For a moment, I thought our little answer was actually a living being! On the contrary, it is not. The answer is quite mundane after all.

"The answer, madam, is 'shoes'."

The women, thoroughly impressed, whispered amongst themselves. Yuka folded her hands in her lap.

"Quite the gentleman, _and_ the brain, aren't you?" she laughed, a solemn smile at her lips. "That is a riddle we've shared amongst us maids for years. Many we've tested have gone into town and brought back the most _ridiculous_ of answers! You may be the only one that I've ever heard of who has gotten it correct, it's been too long for me to recall anyway. But back to the task at hand… Ask away, young man. Any questions you have, we'll be glad to get answers for you. Surely, you must be some snappy businessman, marching around these parts, solving our riddles and strutting about as you are! Sharp, very sharp."

"No. Merely an archaeology professor. The ruins of this ancient city are my black gold."

"Very smart, you are," she chortled, tossing a look about the group of maids. They all looked upon him with respect and approval.

"Ma'am, you flatter me!" Professor Layton said quietly, his face deepening in color.

The woman smiled, her cheeks stretching and pulling her skin back into soft folds as she grinned. Then, she sighed, frowning. "Well, dearie, about your friends, the Chancey's. Unfortunately, you are many years too late," she said sadly. "There's nothing much left of them, other than the slab of land along the coast where their mansion of a house used to sit. Some man bought the house. Tore it down."

"Whatever happened?"

"Take a seat, young man. Yes, there's fine." She pulled a basket of apples to her side, the other women following suit. As if on cue, they each took out a peeler from pockets in their aprons or long pleated dresses and began peeling the apples rapidly. It was like a peeling circle (as opposed to a _sewing_ circle), and they'd gathered for companionship, as well as a good story or two from the director of the thing. "You really haven't talked with them then for some time, have you? Many things have changed. You see, the Chancey's lived very nicely on the coast. Surely you know the man of the household worked in the oil industry? Their little boy, Leopold, the nicest thing. I suppose he wasn't really _little_, being an adult when we were around him last, but to his parents, and his maids, he would always be the little polite boy we had all cared for and raised. He was the heir to the business. Anyway, years ago, he…had an accident." The Professor raised his eyebrows, extremely interested. The other women cried out softly, expressing sadness with foreign prayers and light chanting, some making religious gestures.

"An…accident?" Layton asked, making sure he'd heard correctly. "Of what sort?"

"Some people say he was drinking, others say it was because an inexperienced driver was playing around too much at the wheel. I know it wasn't drinking, Leopold was no lush. He was the epitome of a gentleman. Much like yourself, as a matter of fact. But I digress. He was in a boat, and collided with another. It was a fatal accident."

Luke coughed, almost losing an unchewed bite of apple down his windpipe. "Fatal? That means he—"

"Luke, please," Layton warned the boy, afraid he'd reveal too much. "Let the lady continue."

"Yes, mind your manners, young man!" the woman said, trying to force a smile. "But yes, he was killed. Shortly after Leopold died, his father sold his oil business to his brother, as he was so distraught from his son's death. It's no surprise that he started developing a serious bout of depression. Never sought out help, never. Oh, what a silly man, thinking he could handle that load! It wasn't long after that, that he committed suicide."

The Professor shook his head and gasped. "No…"

"Yes. It was a shock for all of us. Two of our masters, gone. It may seem strange for outsiders, but to us, they were as much our family as our own families were. As for Mrs. Chancey, I'm not quite sure where she ended up. She left one day, and never so much as left a small note, saying where she went. There's so much gossip on that one, you'll be here all day if I got into it."

There was an awkward pause. The Professor, staring hard at the old woman, breathed quietly, trying to accept her words. "So Leopold…has been dead for many years."

"Yes, Mr…Layton, was it? Yes, Mr. Layton. Leopold Chancey has been cold, dead in the ground for eight years now. The memory of the Chancey family is just about as dead and gone, it's been so long without so much as a simple word about them. Nothing left, nothing to say or remember them by now. We're so busy, we just had to forget. After a day's hard work, caring for other families, at the end of the day, there's nothing to go on but prayers and a light sleep. That is our life. We've all moved around between families, caring for other children. It surprises me actually, to hear the name after so long…"

The other maids, including Rosella, concurred with small nods. Luke and Flora shuffled uncomfortably, clearly wanting to speak with the Professor, who was frozen in place. His head was throbbing, his throat was incredibly dry, each painful swallow resulting in the sides of his throat cleaving together. Had he just heard…what he thought he had heard…? It was bewildering, and it didn't make any sense. The sweltering heat had built up underneath his hat, small streams of sweat creeping along his scalp, under his hair.

'_Is Leopold Chancey…actually dead? That would mean one of two things…_'

"Is that all you want to know?" Yuka asked hesitantly, breaking Layton's reverie. He chuckled, then smiled.

"I'm terribly sorry, I'm just…in complete shock."

"I'm very sorry to have to give you such news. It's not the most savory of things to learn about, but I'm sure it's best you know now, than to continue searching about the city."

"You said this happened 8 years ago? Do you know, or remember, about when it happened?"

"Surely, it was in the summer. I want to say July, yes, July. Poor soul, he could have been so much too, amounted to being such a successful man…"

"Was there a body? I mean, was he buried?

"Unfortunately, there was no body found, of him, or of the other boat's captain. The owner of the other boat was never discovered. Apparently, not anyone from around these parts. Must have been a foreigner. The verdict was that no one was with him, but that's debated still, even though no one that he knew personally was ever missing, meaning his friends were all safe and accounted for. Some people think he ran around with a rough crowd, but we knew him better than that."

"One more thing. Surely, being the son of such an affluent and influential man, this…_event_ must have been in the newspapers. It must have made headlines."

The woman looked off into space, as if trying to remember, but already knew it was futile. "I want to say yes, it had to have been. An obituary, something. But I don't have any memory of it, no recollection of reading it, seeing it. Perhaps in the archives of local newspapers."

Nodding, his mind a hurricane, Professor Layton rose from his seat and bowed slightly. "I thank you all very much for allowing me to borrow so much of your valuable time and take so much information from you. I'm eternally grateful, really. And I'm sorry for your loss, regardless of the time that has elapsed."

"It's never a problem to share our news with such a gentleman," Rosella said with a grandmotherly smile. "You be sure to come back here, if you need anything else."

"Will do," he muttered softly, tipping his hat. "For now, ladies, I'm going to take my leave and rest for a bit. I've been busy as of late, and it's caught up with me. Thank you again."

After a quick farewell, he ushered the children out of the tented clearing and walked hastily away from the women, who began chirping and chatting away under the secrecy of mother tongues in order to spread whatever rumors, gossip, and 'news' that they had each heard since dawn.

A fresh breeze swept into Layton, Luke, and Flora's faces, cooling off their sweat-soaked shirt collars and perspiring skin.

"Ah, that feels a lot better than the stagnant humid air under that tent!" Luke breathed airily. "Professor, where are we hurrying off to now? I have something to—"

"I know you're eager to talk, Luke," Professor Layton interrupted, holding up a warning finger, "but you _must_ refrain from discussing this until we reach the safety and privacy of our hotel room. I want to include Laura in our findings as well. Besides, I'm not quite finished with collecting information for today."

"But, Professor, we just found out something _big_! What's more to find?"

"Luke, all paths and possibilities must be navigated and ruled out before making a conclusion. You know this better than anyone. Flora, are you feeling alright?"

The girl nodded her head, grinning. "Absolutely!"

"Good. After finding some water and a bit of food, I need to do a bit of reading, looking through some documents before we find some recreational activities to tuck into. After all, while the women's words were eye-opening, it still is only gossip. I need to solidify their story with facts. However, this has been a terrific lead, a marvelous place to start..."

Luke lifted his hat, running fingers through his damp hair. "I still wonder if you're just lucky, or your intuition is like a magnet."

Layton laughed, a spring in his step. "Lucky would be solving this quickly, but I don't think that will be our case."

'_No, I don't think that will be our case at all…_'

END.


	27. CHAPTER 27: PRELUDE TO INTERFERENCE

**A short chapter. It's more transitional if anything. A bit of a break from the longer stuff….**

**Is anyone lost? Is anybody not understanding my writing? I don't want anyone suffering from my mental ramblings during this story. LET ME KNOW!**

**There may be mistakes in this. Please let me know if you catch any. I'm too lazy to read it through…. I have too many books to read, and Steins;Gate otakuing to get into. –is a loser-**

**HERE YOU GO. Don't forget to review. Want something written? Think you have something to offer to the story? TELL ME. I'm lax with suggestions. I won't make fun of you. :]**

**Physics-ing all day long,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 27: PRELUDE OF INTERFERENCE**

Sunlight glaring sharply off of her shades, Laura walked as briskly as she could manage across a plaza, avoiding the purveyors and salesman that were trying to hand out free samples in order to coerce her into buying their wares. She slowed her pace as her legs cramped up unceremoniously, just before she reached an old weathered bench.

"All that time standing, and not a chair in sight…" She grumbled to herself and wiped her brow, a frustrated grimace on her face. Just in front of her, a taxi cab pulled up to the curb and let its passengers out. The Professor's characteristic hat was hard to confuse or miss. He calmly paid the cab fare as Luke and Flora bolted to the bench and gave Laura a '_WE HAVE SECRET INFORMATION AND WE REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU BUT WE CAN'T_' sort of glance, accompanied by an excited sort of jig, Luke nervously bouncing from one foot to the other. Whether or not Laura understood their anxiousness was another matter, but the children didn't think so far ahead.

Laura smiled with relief. "Just in time! I hope you guys had a better afternoon than I did."

"Oh yes, we…oh, wait…Yes." Luke gave a guttural whine, fit to bursting with information, but another glance from the Professor made him bite his tongue. Again.

Laura winked at the boy and laughed. "Don't worry, kiddo. Just enjoy the rest of your day. Investigations can wait."

The entire group began walking down the cobbled sidewalk, past the open doors of restaurants and laid-back offices that welcomed in the warm summer breeze. Luke looked at the Professor, who returned the glance with a slight shrug.

"My boy, some things you just _have_ to wait for," he tried reasoning. "We can't very well just come out and blurt out all our information. Should someone be trailing us, they could—"

"Oh, lookie!" Flora giggled and beamed as the sight of the ocean became apparent as they neared the shore. She ran forward a few steps along with Luke and looked on merrily near an old wooden fence that outlined the area. "It's so beautiful! Look at all of the sand!"

"We can make sand castles! And bury the Professor!" Luke shouted. Both children laughed hysterically, the mental image of the Professor with sand up to his chin proving to be extremely comical. Laura's lips stretched demonically, her smile crafty and off-putting.

"There's an idea…"

"Well, I'll tell you right now what I'm _not _doing, and _that_ is it!" Layton grumbled, sighing in disbelief that his company would even dream of doing such a thing to him. "However, I can't say I'm surprised that you'd be in agreement with it, _Laura_…"

As they continued up ahead, seagulls brayed and cried from many metres up in the sky, circling the area in hopes that someone would leave their fast food wrappers or cruddy leftovers. The children reached the coast first, testing the tide with each rising wave rushing to their toes. They chased at the ocean as the water was sucked from the shore, then ran away when it flooded back onto the sand again.

"It's definitely beautiful. A bit different than visiting the beach back home in England," Laura said with a lazy smile, flopping herself down on the ground. "Don't even need a chair. The sand is soft enough."

Layton sat next to her in the sand. "Quite windy. I suppose I should take this off." He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, wincing as he pushed his hand painfully through sweat-streaked strands. "Or maybe I should have done that earlier… Not enough ventilation underneath, it seems." He glanced at Laura, who was looking longingly at Luke and Flora. The two children were dancing in the sand, still racing the tide. Flora bent down to examine some sort of shell and called Luke over to join in.

Somehow, even after so long, even though she never uttered a single word, Layton still knew his student's thoughts.

"I wish immensely that I could go do that," she said quietly, her voice barely sounding above a whisper, the loud ocean competing for attention. "I could barely get myself to that plaza just now, to meet you. When I mentioned meeting at a 'central location', I wasn't thinking about how far my legs could actually take me; I was thinking what would be the most easy for the taxi, I suppose…" She gave a flat laugh and wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging her knees to her chest. "You know, to this day, I regret being in London on that morning."

"That morning…of?"

"Getting into that car accident."

"Ah, yes…" He turned his attention back to the ocean, unsure of what to say, even though he felt he should say _something_. He swallowed, his brain running circles.

"Even though I know that I can't change it, that I can't take it back, that everything happens for a reason, I _still_ regret ever going to London then."

"Why did you go, anyway?"

"The single most _dumbest_ reason. And I'm using two superlatives _because_ it was _so_ entirely dumb." The Professor chuckled, relived that she was at least trying to make light of an unfortunate circumstance. "To buy _tea_ ingredients, of _all_ things. I found myself wanting a cup of your recipe, and I needed items I could only find in London. So…" She smiled plainly. "Got a bonus, I guess."

"Ever considered surgery?"

"It doesn't cure everything!" she laughed, somewhat annoyed. "Don't you think I'd have done that by now?"

"Well, I suppose funding would be necessary, so perhaps you just couldn't afford…"

"My parents would have, but…like I said, surgery doesn't cure _everything_…" The tone in her voice made Professor Layton shiver, as he was certain she was referring to more than only her leg injuries. Maybe it was his paranoia, but… Something in him wanted to get cocky, give some bitter retort, but he thought better of it. His gentlemanly conduct was eroding, his patience wearing thin ever since she showed herself again.

'_Ignore it, Hershel, it's probably just your conscience. Do you really have that guilty of a conscience?_' He sighed heavily, resting his weight back on his hands. He dug his fingers and palms deeper into the sand, releasing his irrationalities as he squeezed the grains.

Staring into the ocean's waves, becoming mesmerized by the setting sun's infinite reflections, Laura felt the bridge of her nose burning. She sniffed, acting as if she merely had trouble with allergies by rubbing her nose nonchalantly.

"We'd been to the beach once."

"I'm sorry?"

She shook her head, grinning as she stood. "Nothing. Just talking to myself."

"You still do that?" He stared after her, disappointed that she didn't respond. He'd caught her on multiple occasions, speaking with no one but herself during her first year of college. He thought maybe it was a nervous habit she'd developed in school, not having others to talk to, but perhaps it really was just her, one of her many idiosyncrasies.

He watched her shuffle to the water's edge, catching the attention of Luke and Flora. As she bent down to touch the sand, the children quickly ran past her, towards the Professor.

"Ready to go back to the hotel, Professor?" Luke yelled. "Look, we found a _huge _shell!"

Flora handed it to the Professor, who looked at it with feigned interest. "Very good. Yes, let's return, shall we?" He kept his eye on Laura as he stood at full height, stretching. Something in the way she threw a clump of the wet ground out into the ocean told him that she was frustrated. Frustrated beyond her capability of expression. Frustrated with things she didn't quite understand. He immediately felt pity, a mutual self-pity, a shared anguish.

"What were you looking at?"

Layton shook his head, looking down into Laura's face. He figured he must have gotten lost in a daze. "Er, I…I was thinking. Only thinking."

"Of?"

"Of what I found during our investigation today. That's all."

"Hmm." She looked at him with suspicion. "So you found something? Very good. Now I'm curious. I thought you were thinking of something else. Sorry, I guess I shouldn't assume."

He nodded, energy of recalling the afternoon's search taking over. He was reminded of everything that had occurred that day, reminded of all the things that just didn't quite add up. It wasn't until he got to talking with Laura just moments before that he was drained from the elation of his findings. He couldn't continue letting his conscience get in the way.

'_There are more important things at stake here. My…problems can wait._

'_Or…can they…?_'

"No need to apologize…" he whispered.

"At any rate, let's head back. I can't do anything here anyway besides slug about."

After a short taxi ride back to Ostia, they boarded a small ferry. The vessel bobbed up and down joyfully in the canal, waiting for others to join the passenger deck before returning to Rome. The children walked along the boat's sides, looking over the railing and scaring the Professor multiple times.

"We haven't even left yet, and you're already making my stomach drop just watching you lean like that! Step away from the edge and—_LUKE._"

He grabbed the boy's sweater as Luke leaned forward a bit too much, his small blue hat almost falling into the dark water.

"Whoops! Whoa, come back hat!" With his feet firmly planted back on the deck, Luke pulled the hat on and smiled, embarrassed. "Sorry, Professor…"

"Good heavens…" He leaned against the railing beside Laura, who merely snorted and tried covering her amusement.

"Don't you know you're supposed to _prevent_ accidents, not step in _while_ they are occurring?" she chided him with an aloof tone. "Perhaps I'll report you to the authorities when we return to London?"

"You'll do _no_ such thing. I can handle them fine." Scratching his forehead, he looked down into the water. The boat had started moving in all the excitement. Luke and Flora went to the front of the boat, trying to look into the captain's cabin.

Several minutes went by before either Laura or the Professor spoke. Laura stared into the water, her hands gripping the rail firmly. Her eyes were fixed on the seemingly perpetual wake, the water's surface distorting and becoming dark, lost as the day faded.

"What are _you_ thinking about?" the Professor chimed in, leaning against the side of the boat on crossed arms. Laura turned to look at him slightly and caught a smile out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't help but smile herself.

"What? Nothing. Only of things that don't matter. That's all. I'm coming up with irrational theories of what your news could be."

"No sense in bothering with that. I haven't told you anything."

"Yeah, well… My brain works faster than the world around me, you know that. A wise man hears one word and understands two. Luke's excitement, your secrecy. It's urgent, I can tell."

"And the _wiser_ man doesn't worry about things that haven't come to pass," he chuckled. "Laura, before we get back, I just thought I'd tell you—"

The boat let off a loud, belching _hurrrnk_ as they pulled closer to the dock, the horn sounding off to let those around become aware of its presence. The Professor rolled his eyes.

'_What a movie-worthy noise interruption, if I've ever heard one!_'

Laura viewed him through pinned eyes, though her alert pupils were lost in the increasing darkness. "What were you saying?"

"Nevermind. Just…nevermind."

Unexpectedly, the girl patted him on the shoulder. "Just stick to the reason you're here. You'll be better off that way. I don't need your sappy human problems getting in the way of mine." She walked away towards the exit, calling for the children.

Layton looked at the city, dressed in lights, drowning in loud, typical urban sounds. It fought off the night, the oncoming darkness with minimal effort. Was it a sign? Should he be able to do the same? He sighed.

"Yes, I need to…shed my problems for the moment, fight them off. Sure. Easier said than done."

'_You're not the only one with problems!_' He looked at Laura menacingly, even catching himself off-guard. Was he so buried in contempt, so well-fed with bitterness that he'd resent her? Had she done something so terrible to him that he was someone other than himself? He frowned, upset and angry, mostly at himself. '_Why do I have to seal mine away_?_ Why can't I work on my own problems too_?'

"Come on, Professor!" Flora and Luke waved after him as they followed Laura off of the boat. He was thankful that no one had noticed his short-lived, internal soliloquy. With a shake of his head, replacing his hat in its proper position, he smiled and chased after them.

"Wait up! …For one with such disability, she still keeps a quick pace, doesn't she…?"

He caught up and forgot his troubles, hoping he'd left them to sail endlessly on the ferry.

END.


	28. CHAPTER 28: SEQUEL OF DISTURBANCE

**CHAPTER 28: SEQUEL OF DISTURBANCE**

Professor Layton gave one last glance at the children to make sure they had indeed fallen asleep. Flora's stomach rose and fell as she breathed in quietly; Luke smacked his lips as he turned over in the midst of a dream, smiling as a bead of drool threatened to escape from the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head, the Professor left the hotel room, closing the door with a soft click.

His footfalls were silent, the carpet absorbing the shock and sound of each step. His breathing, in contrast, was ragged, a bit strained. After all, it had been many years since he'd last tried on his swimsuit, and he was livid that it no longer assisted him with looking at least a _little_ bit…presentable.

Perhaps livid was an understatement. He was certainly past perturbed.

Pulling his robe closer around him, he grumbled as he made his way to the elevators. Laura was already waiting for him.

"Did your suitcase try eating you or something? Took you long enough!" She crossed her arms after selecting the "Down" button.

"I might as well have been eaten, or at least chewed up, spit out, chewed up again, with the way I look in a swimming suit…. I refuse to join you."

"My, aren't you opinionated! If it soothes your wounded ego, I'm not actually getting _in_ the hot tub. I'm only soaking my legs over the side. It helps with the cramping, you know. There's really no reason to need swimming trunks."

"O-Oh… Well, then I—"

"What, don't go telling me you were hoping to see _me_ in a _swim suit_…" She laughed softly as the Professor choked on his own words, causing him to cough. "You're too easy…"

"What has made you so cheeky?! I demand to know why you find it so hilarious to pester me with these sort of…these sort of…things… Nevermind. Forget I said a word about it."

The elevator ride was stiff. Layton held fast to his robe, ignoring Laura's teasing, sarcastic gaze. Before long, she had led them to a bright room with topaz-colored tiles, the smell of water and chlorine reaching their noses before they had the chance to even look at its source. A large cerulean pool was in the middle of the room, its surface still and smooth as glass. Beyond it was a bubbling hot tub. The steam rose far above it to the dark ceiling, the night sky visible from the many skylights. The place was quiet, still.

Laura sat her towel down on a nearby chair and sat at the lip of the hot tub, slowly dipping her feet into the water. She winced a bit as her toes skimmed the top of the turbulent surface.

"Pretty hot."

"Well, it's called a hot tub for a reason you know…" he said with an air of sarcasm, crossing his arms indignantly.

"Don't get all cocky with me, Hershel. I know why it's called a_ hot_ tub." She cupped her hand and collected a bit of the water in it, proceeding to toss it at the grumpy man now standing at her side. Layton took a quick step back, shaking his head, sputtering.

"What on earth—"

"Now then, are you just going to _stand_ there, or are you actually going to get in? Come on, do you really think I'd do something so low as to make fun of my former teacher?" She smiled brightly, yet a hint of untruth glinted behind her eyes.

"In a word, _yes_!"

Laura rolled her eyes. "You're probably right. Whatever. If it helps me, that's all I really care about. The hot water, I mean. You do as you please."

Without further pestering, he sat on the tiled floor, mimicking Laura as he put his feet over the side as well. He shivered as the hot water wrapped around his feet in a wet embrace, the warmth spreading from his toes to the rest of his body. His skin prickled. "I'm sure you'd like to know the fruits of our investigation earlier."

Nodding enthusiastically, the girl turned her head to face him. "Poor Luke, he wanted to be the one to tell me. Guess I'll have to feign interest when he blurts it out tomorrow?"

"You'd be very kind to do that, yes."

"Very well. As for me, I can't wait through the night to find out, so spill."

Layton sighed, staring at the ceiling. He leaned back on his hands. "We had—by strange, yet fortunate, chance—come upon a lead, right from the get-go."

"This is in Ostia?"

"Yes. We started out in an affluent neighborhood, seeing if we could get some names and information out of anybody. We stumbled across an older woman, who turned out to be a maid. She took us to a group of fellow servants, as she thought they would have a story or two to share with us."

"It doesn't surprise me," Laura grunted, sarcasm sweeping over her face as she rolled her eyes. She had been doing that a lot more, Layton noted to himself. "Maids. Yes, some 'stories' to share. Gossipmongers among gossipmongers."

"Indeed, a whole slew of them. Almost cult-like, they were. After gaining their trust by solving a puzzle ("Really?!" Laura groaned),we were allowed to ask questions of them freely."

Laura shrugged. "Okay? So you asked them what? To make you some supper?"

"We asked about the Chancey family, of course, and one of them actually used to serve the family. This particular woman mentioned something that was of great interest to me. It turned out that she hadn't actually seen or served the family for quite some time, and as I continued to explore the news further, I found her information all the more strange as I pressed forward."

Kicking her feet in the water just beneath the surface, Laura bounced like a child tortured by the evils of waiting. "…Okay? Well, what is it already?!"

The Professor, holding up a warning finger, closed his eyes. "Now, we can't go taking this woman's word as gospel. It really could be strictly false gossip, after all, and—"

"Well, it's all we have to go on!" She was losing patience quickly. "What'd she tell you?"

He told her about how the woman by the name of Yuka had worked for the Chancey family many years ago, and, consequently, knew them well. But when he mentioned the part about Leopold's fatal boating accident, Laura's eyes widened for several moments before narrowing, as if discerning (under great scrutiny) whether the story was actually delivered accurately.

"Hold on a minute. You're telling me that Leopold was killed years ago in a boating accident?"

"Indeed."

"Well then, that means…well, that could mean one of several things!"

"Hold on, it gets even stranger. After speaking with the woman, Luke, Flora, and I continued our search. I decided to be skeptical of the gossip. You know, to test it. I went about town, trying to find anyone else who might have heard of the incident. I found no one willing to talk to me in depth. I also scouted the area out for media sources that talked of Leopold's death, for surely something would detail it, what with him being the only son of an influential oil tycoon. I tried finding obituaries, news articles, _something_ that would at least mention the event. There was no death filed in city records, there is no cemetery plot, there is no word of his passing in any archived media communication. In fact, it's as if Leopold never even _existed_."

Laura gripped the edge of the hot tub's lipped rim as she stared down at her feet, distorted and blurred by the warm foam bubbles in the water. She trusted the Professor in his investigative skills, but at the same time, her brain didn't want to believe the nonsense he was speaking about. None of the supposed 'facts' connected.

"Well, then there's only one of three things that's going on here," she began, clearing her throat. "One, this maid—Yuka, was it?—could be wrong, and Leopold never even was in an accident. She's old, after all. Perhaps she's confusing him with another? Two, there really _was_ an accident, but Leopold is exactly where I left him back in London, meaning, it wasn't fatal. Or, three, there really was an accident, but it ended in death, meaning…the current Leopold is an imposter."

"Yes, those are the most logical possibilities, given the current information we have." The Professor looked attentively at the bubbles and froth that were accumulating in the middle of the tub as the jet streams pushed it all to the center. He was trying to make sense of it all, even now. "I don't want to form a conclusion just yet, but I thought this was strange news. It doesn't make sense for the gossip to exist, and have nothing, _nothing_ in the news to base it on. There's no hard evidence that there was a death, or even an accident."

"People talk. Does gossip ever need a base? Does it _need_ a reason?"

"Well, no, but…" He grumbled something inaudible.

"However, whatever it turns out to be in the end, it's very…eye-opening, to say the least. I'm doubly going to be on alert once we return to London. No government records on the death either? Death certification?"

"Nothing, I told you."

After a brief pause, Laura stood, drying off her legs slowly as she struggled to keep her balance. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to keep going, and file this in the back of our minds. I'll keep a closer watch on the _boss_ back at work. He's been keeping close tabs on _me_ after all!"

"Hmm."

Laura looked at the Professor with minor interest. "_Hmm_? What are you thinking about?"

"I'm just wondering at what this all means…that's all." He stared ahead, keeping her movements in his peripheral vision. She pulled a towel about herself.

"Hershel?"

Layton stirred a bit and turned towards her voice, but didn't look directly into her face. He wasn't comfortable enough. "Y-Yes?"

"Do you regret anything?"

The question repeated itself in his ears, but his brain wasn't comprehending quickly enough.

"Er, well, I—"

"Nothing specific. It's just a generic question. You can take it as you see fit."

"Well, I suppose that…well, there's not much I can do about past things now, given that I'm in the present time, so…I prefer to keep pushing forward really, and— where is this going?"

"That's all I need to know." She walked away from the steam, the pool, the smell of chlorine, and continued through the room's grand glass doors, making her way to the elevators. The Professor stared after her, but never tried to make her stop. He looked into the water once more before making his own, slow return to the hotel room.

Upon returning, the room was pitch black, save for a soft glowing night light on one of the walls. He attempted to compose a mental map of the room, trying to avoid bumping into couches and end tables.

'_I suppose Laura isn't in a mood for talking…_' he wondered to himself, frowning. He walked to the master suite and knocked lightly on the door. He ventured inside after hearing a faint invitation to enter. He cleared his throat as his resolve wavered a bit upon noticing that Laura's face had soured significantly.

"Do you need something?" she snapped, turning away from him.

"I'm just curious as to…what your question meant. What it was referring to…?"

"Nothing. No reason."

"None at all?"

"Look, if you didn't have an answer, then _that_ in itself is the answer. Don't worry about the question _now_." She returned her focus to him and pointed confidently at the door. "If you're finished, you may leave."

He shook his head. "I'm not finished. Let me deliver the same question: do_ you_ regret anything?"

She stared at him, eyes blank. "Why yes, I do," she said rather quickly, making no hesitation to make her case known. "I regret this—", she slapped her thighs, "—for going out and getting my body banged up, and I regret letting small, insignificant things get to me. You can take that as you will. Satisfied? Oh, you really don't know _how_ annoying it is to be asked the same question that I just asked moments ago…so irritating…"

"When you say 'insignificant things', you're referring to—"

"Professor, I'm very tired. It would be _highly beneficial_ to you if you just turn in for the night and allow me to do the same." As he took a few steps forward, it was obvious he wasn't paying any attention to her words. She shook her head and groaned as he opened his mouth to say something. "Don't you have ears?"

"Look, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, but—"

"Apparently you _don't_ have any: you're not listening…"

"—I think if you could curb your emotions, and I could curtail any that I may experience as well, we could get a lot more done. Ever since we…met again, after all this time, you seem to…"

She wasn't listening. The words hit her eardrums with resounding absurdity, reverberating idiocy. She wanted to roll her eyes into the back of her head and plug up her ears. Perhaps it was the changing weather. Perhaps it was stress from being in a foreign country. Perhaps it was the incessantly bothersome stinging that shot through her legs like nervous sparks, electric pulses with a pain-seeking agenda. But whatever it was, it made Laura want to grab the words from the air before they reached her ears and shove them back down the Professor's throat.

'_Maybe I'm going mad, but my patience is already sheet-thin, and it's tearing, ripping, splitting right down the middle with _every. Word. He. Says. _I've never felt so irritated, I just want it to all—_'

"STOP." She held her hands fast to the sides of her head, rubbing her ears to get rid of the sounds still buzzing around the inside of her skull like pestering flies. Professor Layton looked at her, shocked at her sudden change in demeanor.

"I…beg your pardon?"

"Just stop, shut up, I don't want to hear another word, I don't care about remeetings, and catching up, and how I've changed, you've changed, _whatever_! I know I've changed, I don't care, why do you care all of a sudden? You didn't care then, you shouldn't care now! Ah! What does it matter, I don't care anymore about that. Was I really so desperate to ask you for help…I'm regretting that too, I suppose," she mumbled to herself.

Layton held his hands up, and motioned for her to take a seat on the bed. "Laura, I think you're getting overwhelmed and stressed. How about you just sit and rest, and forget I said anything, okay?"

"Oh yes, easy for you to say now that you've gotten me thinking a million meters a second! Didn't you hear me? Stop giving me advice, stop talking! You got ears? But I guess you can't hear because they're probably hiding under that _stupid_ hat!" Tossing the advice to the side, she instead took a quick step forward and grabbed towards the silk hat's brim, narrowly missing as Layton leaned backward in the nick of time. He casually blocked her arm and repeated the action as her other hand shot up towards the hat, each attempt refused and denied.

"My ears work just fine. What'd my hat ever do to you? Leave it alone. Laurie, you'll stop this at once, I—"

"It's not even the same one that I gave you, why do you care about it so much?" She continued thrusting her hands toward her prize, the Professor trying to catch her by the wrists. "Just because some—stupid—brat—gave it—to you—doesn't make—it special—"

"Oh, you mean the first brat?" He glared at her from shadowy eyes, continuing to defend himself, as Laura's eyes widened in surprise and rage at his audacity.

"Why you… Don't get cheeky with _me_, Hershel! I swear, I'll verbally _and_ physically tear you apart!"

"I daresay you would! Verbally may hurt worse. Your tongue seems to be a bit sharper than your wit as of late."

"You nasty little—"

Laura recoiled her hands and lunged toward him, landing lightly on the bed as he fluidly swayed to the right. Had she viewed the scene from an audience's perspective, she might have felt embarrassed of herself, pawing and jumping at the Professor like an owl clawing at some rodent among the thrushes. But the unbridled fury coursing through her brain transferred to the rest of her body as destructive energy. Her hands lusted for something to twist, mangle. If it wasn't the stupid, taunting hat, it'd be his blandly calm face. Layton started to feel his breathing becoming labored. He wasn't physically inclined to guarding silk hats (not to mention his character) from ferocious and vituperative young girls. He inhaled sharply as he dodged her crazed grabbing.

"Will you just settle d—"

"God knows I want to slap that insipid expression off your dainty little mug," she growled, eyes shining, wincing as she extended her legs each time to get nearer. "How dare you insult me! First with that mockery on your head, then with your words!"

He warned her once with his eyes. "Laura Haris, don't make me say anything I'll regret—"

"You don't _have_ regrets, remember? You stupid, blithering, vile, old man!"

A second warning, as he successfully gripped both of her wrists, struggling to keep her restrained. His brow was furrowed as he tried to match her strength, which was surprisingly immense for one so small and handicapped below the waist.

"Let go of me! I don't have proper balance!" she yelled out, just as the inevitable happened. She closed her eyes as she fell backward, expecting to slam into the floor, when instead her back and head pressed deep into the surface of the soft bed. She meant to rise, but found herself pinned underneath the one she was just battling with.

Her eyes immediately met with the Professor's, his face hovering mere centimeters over hers. Neither said a word, Layton's fingers still unknowingly retaining their vise-like grip around her wrists. He was too astounded to move, as was she. She felt her skin bristle as the sensation of his warm breathing traveled along her cheeks, down her neck. It was something she hadn't experienced in years. He blinked several times, his brain flooding with sensory data as he slowly reclaimed a memory long forgotten, a memory similar to the sight of what lay before him. And under him.

"I-I…I'm so sorry…I…was merely trying to defend myself…I didn't mean—"

The handle to the door clicked and turned, making Layton shoot up from the bed. Laura's neck cracked as she turned her head toward the now open door, Luke looking in sleepily at the both of them.

"Professor, is something wrong?" He looked slowly from Laura on the bed to the Professor, then back at Laura, his eyes widening as he traced a path between the two shocked adults. "Oh, um…nevermind…I'll just go back to—"

"Luke, this isn't what you think, we were just—"

"Professor, I really don't need to know, I'll just go—"

"Luke, really, the Professor and I just got into an argument and I got frustrated, so I threw myself down on the bed here, see?" Laura smiled and lay back heavily onto the bed once more. "Just like that. We weren't fighting or anything."

The boy smiled awkwardly. "Well, I just was worried that—"

"Boy, where _do_ you get these sordid thoughts?!" Professor Layton said with some annoyance.

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Sordid? What's that even mean?"

"It means…wait, what were you even thinking?"

Laura stood and pinched him in back of the arm, smiling in contrast to his no pained expression. "Luke merely thought we were engaging in physical altercations of the violent sort. He thought we were quarreling, and that someone was getting hurt. Luke, I assure you, I'd never lay a hand on the Professor, nor would he lay one on me. We just…got a bit too loud while exchanging opinions, is all."

All stood still, staring at one another, until the boy smiled, accepting the story.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure. I didn't think there'd be any injuries, the Professor's just not that way, but…then again, it seemed rather loud for him, and I think I started having a violent dream where a giant plate of pizza was attacking the hotel and—"

"Luke. To bed, please."

"R-Right, Professor…good night, Professor…'night, Laura."

The door shut with a click.

Laura shot Layton a menacing glance, an attempt to drill a heavy bolt of shame into him. "I hate lying to the boy, but do you _really_ have to go so far as to think he'd be thinking as dirty as _you_?" Laura spat vehemently. "Really now. He's hardly the sort. I used to think highly of you in that regard, but…"

"Well, it did _look_ a bit…well…you know…" Pink quickly bled into his cheeks. "I don't think that way! It's just…well…I was just afraid, that's all… I wasn't thinking very clearly, I apologize…"

"Apparently!" She rubbed her eyes and threw back the bedspread. "Someone's rather _sordid_, as you thought the same back when choosing beds when we first got to the room."

The Professor sighed and tried to ignore the churning pit that currently took up residency in his stomach. He felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. He was losing. Losing himself, while swimming in memories. He shook his head.

"I don't know what's happened with me. I feel as if I've been…altered. I…I…You know I'm not typically this way, you should know—"

"Well, go see a shrink. Maybe you have a split personality. As for me, I'm not here to help with your mental issues. I want to get my own problems solved. And while I have my own share of issues caused by your hand, my most pressing problems don't directly involve you." She pointed at him. He looked up at her plainly, emotionless on the surface, turmoil underneath his blank expression. "I murdered my feelings for you 10 years ago, and buried them in the past. I won't exhume them. I won't resurrect them. I want them to rot. I want them to _rot_."

"Laura, you can't continue like this. I think that's why I'm suffering too, I'm just lying to my—"

"No. It's too late. I don't want to hear anymore. I don't want to end up…" She shook her head. "Nevermind. Good night, Professor."

"Laurie, I'm sorry I ever brought anything up, I—"

"Save it. I'm through." She slid under the bed cover, her hand on the lamp chain, waiting for him to start walking to the door. "And for a man with no regrets, you sure are obsessed with the past."

He put his fingers to the handle, staring at the door's wood grain. The light went out, and he opened his mouth, meaning to say something, but he wasn't even sure what he was going to say. 'Sorry'? The truth?

'_No. Not the truth. The truth is to remain buried… Memories are for history, for the past, for the books._

'_For that damned page from that equally damning book. I swear, I'll burn it if I ever get my hands on it.'_


	29. CH 29: WHO YOU KNOW AND WHO YOU DON'T

**Lots of words! Avid readers will wriggle with happiness.**

**But, if you're like me, you'll just cry and have to read in spurts. :[**

**I quite like the material in this chapter. I can't say I like how it's expressed/written, but it was fun to write. Because picturing it all…...I really laughed a lot. Haha. It'd be better as a comic (or animated!) rather than as a story...**

**As always, please correct any grammatical errors or sentences that just sound off. Also, my 'j' key is sticking terribly so if there's a 'j' missing...LET ME KNOW!**

**Crying because I missed Venus' transit across the sun,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 29: WHO YOU KNOW (AND WHO YOU DON'T)  
**Back in London, 1 Month Later  
Petrolite Industries, Corporate Offices, Ground Floor

"Stabilnon, sir?"

Laura Haris, becoming slightly perturbed as the sun blared into the room and burned into her back, knit her eyebrows together. She felt her skin dampen, a film of sweat coating her back and waist. Standing in front of floor-to-ceiling windows at midday wasn't her idea of a meeting as much as it was her boss'.

A taut smile stretched across the face of Leopold Chancey, who had just handed over a large folder to his employee. Leopold was not the sort of man to spare details, as was apparent by his obsessively sculpted hair and crisp, fresh-pressed oxford and cream blazer. He made it a point to keep his shoes polished, his nails trim, and his face free from stubble of any sort to give off a smooth and fluid impression. Apart from being well-oiled in appearance, his personality was just as slippery.

A light chuckle, half-hearted, airily escaped through his teeth as he clicked his rings together on his fingers, a habit that he had recently picked up, and one that Laura had recently gotten irritated with.

"Judging by your expression, dearest Laura, you've never heard of it," he chortled, referring to the foreign word that she had just questioned. "I'm not surprised. I'll deal with the extensive briefing later, but wouldn't you like to know, it's a cozy little town over in Yankee country. Just along the east coast. Lovely, modest town that it is…" Laura noticed his eyes flash, his interest flaring. "There's _oil_ there, Miss Haris. Oil that I intend for you to dig."

Tucking the folder underneath her arm, Laura remained silent, although the gaze of her employer continued to bore into her. He smirked.

"Haven't you always wanted to go to America?"

"…Not particularly, and not under these circumstances."

"What better circumstances than the opportunity to harness the world's natural energies!" His bright laughter echoed about the large tiled room, his patent leather shoes clicking against the floor as he walked away. Even his stride bothered her, and she rolled her eyes as his white coat-tails fluttered behind him when he turned a corner, shoes continuing their clicking down the hallway.

She opened the folder and scanned it over briefly, slowly walking to move out of the sun's rays and into cool shadows cast by the open room's pillars and giant plants. The whole building's interior was contemporary in design, with straight, neat edges and sterile solid-colored walls. The only colors that broke up the monotony were the deep greens from the foliage that dressed the otherwise empty corners. The flora had been Laura's idea, as she couldn't stand staring all day long at the blank whites and grays that spanned about the rooms and corridors. It appeared to her to be more of a dank tomb rather than clean simplicity.

Her eyes returned to the word in bold at the top. For some reason, she read and reread the title multiple times, as if it wanted to tell her something beyond the individual letters.

"Stabilnon…" she said aloud, blinking. Sucking her teeth, she walked towards her office, intuition gnawing at her voraciously.

Her office was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. She had requested navy blue carpet with white walls and window accents, a monstrous, dark cherry-wood desk, and a perimeter-spanning set of matching wood bookshelves; books and miscellaneous knick-knacks had collected on the shelving units over the years, but all was free from age and dust as if it had been freshly placed only yesterday. Her drive for symmetry split the room equally in half, an imaginary mirror cutting through the middle of the office. Whatever was on the left was also on the right, in the same place, only on the opposite side of the room.

As the sole director of the company's engineering department, it seemed only fitting that she was given a large, expansive room all to herself. Although she spent most of her time actually designing and building elsewhere (even though she _did_ have the computer and the software to do so in the office), the office remained hers to use as she saw fit. She figured the room's size was more a symbol of her seniority and influence in the place rather than out of actual necessity, which gave her a little security. Perhaps the view from the huge windows was symbolic as well, she mused, as she would gaze out daily over the barren grounds, filled with other office structures and whatever else the other buildings contained.

Barren and boring. Life in a nutshell.

But, in the end, she didn't really care one way or the other. All she cared about now was what was hiding underneath the business' façade. There was more to dig than oil. Her proof? It wasn't physical, there was no _real_ proof. Only an acute sense of intuition. And now, the words of a gnarled old maid.

'_What am I playing at…_'

She walked towards her desk, sighing and running fingers through her hair. The folder fell with a light slap onto the desk's dark, glassy surface, her face reflected murkily. She could barely see it, but she could tell her expression had soured.

"And _he_ just makes things worse… Really, what _am_ I playing at?" she whispered, groaning as she slipped into the oversized swivel chair at the desk and buried her face in her hands. "Need to call him. Need to call him. I can't be drowning in this forever."

With heart-racing dread, she punched in numbers on her desk phone, sneering and rolling her eyes as the connection was being made.

"_Professor_! I told you, the _phone_ is _ringing!_"

Slippers plodding, morning paper flying, Professor Layton rushed to the phone on the wall, scolding his apprentice silently with severe eyes as he lifted the receiver from the base.

"I told you that you could answer it, Luke… Hello?"

Luke noticed the color drain from the Professor face, then return. The boy also noted his mouth droop, then pull taut as his cheeks flushed crimson, all within moments. He looked curiously at his mentor, then shrugged.

'_He's such a funny man, really…_'

Layton turned away from the boy, the phone's cord wrapping around his back. "No, no, I shouldn't have…I mean, well—no, really, I—Laura, honestly, I shouldn't—o-okay, okay, if you insist, apology accepted, but—_okay_, no more 'but's', I promise," he stammered, resenting the fact that he couldn't get a word in.

'_Had she always been so headstrong?_'

He had been waiting on word from Laura concerning their investigation, and it had been almost a month with no update. During that time, his dreams had become rather vivid again, haunting him nightly as they had for quite some time, years ago. He had the feeling they wouldn't leave, now that _she_ was back in the picture again.

This particular morning, he woke up before the nightmarish portion of the dream began, and felt as if he had literally just been with his former student, all feelings, emotions, and desires returning as if there'd been no 10-year intermission. To him, the dream might as well have been reality, given the way he felt now. Even during his breakfast and morning tea, he was internally missing and wanting her, wishing she'd call, hoping she'd stop by so he could see her face. But surely, it was the passing fantastical sensations of his dream, and—however realistic—it was merely fleeting emotion attaching itself to him. It would end, definitely; it would fade. It had to. He hoped with every fiber of his body, that it would.

But now, her voice over the phone jarred him, tickling the hunger planted in his sleep. Her words were like a sweet poison, spilling from the ear piece, directly into his head. It didn't matter what she was saying, it only mattered that she kept talking, although her tone was slightly distorted over the electronic communication.

All this, he kept to himself. Surely others wouldn't guess that the calm, pleasantly smiling man with a top-hat was fighting himself beneath the surface? He would keep it that way, he'd resolved.

"Hershel, are you listening to me?" came the frustrated voice from the other end. Layton blinked and smiled stupidly, realizing he wasn't paying any attention.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, I was just looking at…well, nevermind, yes, I'll be home all day. I don't have class until Tues—"

"Perhaps you should come to the corporate offices today. I can show you around. Then we can get our investigation up and running from there. Leopold is leaving in an hour for Italy, so nobody important is around. Unless you count the defunct corner cameras as important."

"And the janitors," he chuckled.

A defiant laugh on the other side. "I _do_ consider them important. They keep this rat-trap clean to the hilt. I won't stand for anything less. They mean more to me than the CEO."

"Right, right…of course…"

"Well, then?"

Layton beamed. "Well, that's a perfect environment to search in!"

"You were supposed to say 'Oh, Laura, well, _somebody _important is around the office, as _you're_ important. Since, after all, you're such an integral part of this investigation,' ha ha."

The Professor was taken aback. "I…."

"I'm just kidding," she said hurriedly, hiding her irritation. He was so sensitive nowadays, it was hard not to be annoyed. "Anyway, you should be here, waiting at a pair of side doors around 3 o'clock. The side entrance is easy to spot. Near a large hedge, visible from the front courtyard. A tall birch tree is by it, surely you know what a birch tree is? I'll let you in from there, as there's no traffic whatsoever that way. No one should spot you. Can you do that?"

He looked over at Luke, winking at him. It was enough to get the boy to race to the coat hook, grab a coat, and pull on his shoes, all as if he could actually hear the other end of the conversation. "Luke and I can do that. Flora is out with Rosa for the afternoon, but Luke and I will join in your company."

"Very well. See you soon."

"Bye—" He merely blinked at the click on the other end, signaling that she'd terminated the call. "Guess she wasn't in the mood for chatting..."

With a light whoop, Luke jumped into the air. "Alright, Professor! Back in business! What's our plan of action now?"

"Well, nothing quite yet, Luke," Layton laughed, impressed with the boy's eagerness. "We're going to Laura's workplace to search for clues. It's a professional place, so you_ must_ be on your best behavior, even if no one is around. Actually, it's of utmost importance even if no one is present in case you are recorded on camera… Actually, she said 'defunct' cameras, so…"

Luke nodded, pulling on his cap. "Professor, you just worry about yourself, and I can take care of myself!"

'_That's one of us_,' the Professor grumbled quietly under his breath, nervous at venturing to the company. Not for the first time, he was uneasy with seeing Laura. She had been more nippy and irritable than usual, but his dreams as of late were erasing all that, showing his student in a more appealing light. Too appealing.

'_I'm just going to keep my mouth shut about anything related to us_…'

Tossing a brown, silk top hat into Layton's lap, Luke grinned broadly and marched right out of the flat, through the front door.

"Come on, Professor! Last one to the offices has to take over Rosa's chores for a week!"

As much as the Professor looked out for his maid's well-being, he had no desire to alleviate her potential work load by taking on any of the cleaning chores himself. Particularly in the realm of dusting out his archaeology study, arduous task that it was.

"No way am I taking on that task…Luke, my boy, wait up! I haven't even changed out of my robe!"

Groaning, he flew to his bedroom, wishing he had the energy of his apprentice. God knew he needed it.

The pair arrived at the company a little before 3 o'clock. Layton parked the car in a side parking lot that was literally empty. The Laytonmobile sat on the heated asphalt, lonely, as they walked away.

"We'll be back, Laytonmobile!" Luke called at it, waving solemnly as they walked away.

"It'll be quite alright, Luke."

They approached a dark set of glass doors and looked around, soon spotting the side entrance. It opened before the two reached the few front steps.

"Right on time, I'm impressed." Laura smiled wryly, holding open the door for them. "Now then, off to my humble…accommodations."

They walked along the dimly lit halls and up two stair cases.

"Where's the elevator…?" the Professor wheezed, to which Laura snorted in response.

"The place wasn't built for a fat man."

'_Here we go…the girl with a track record for insults…_'

The place had an eerie energy about it. Everything was still, but something was waiting. Work was to be done, yet everyone was gone.

"I must ask, Laura, where is everyone?" Layton ventured to question, recovering from the stairs.

"It's a sort of holiday, as Leopold puts it. The day the oil operations were handed over to him. Everyone has the day off."

"Did he ever mention _why_ the company was handed over to him?"

She shook her head, eyes fixed on Luke running ahead of them. "Nope. Nothing. Haven't I told you, I know very little?" she giggled, waving the question off. "Anyway, it is what it is. Oh, here's my office. Luke, come back here, this is our destination!"

Luke had a hard time containing his excitement as they entered Laura's office. Books upon books, trinkets and bobbles all about the shelves. It was too much for one little boy to handle. His hands reached towards the shelves, but the Professor admonished him on the side ("A gentleman never touches things that aren't his.")

"How do you keep it so clean?" Luke asked, half in observation, half in genuine wonder.

"The Professor never told you about my obsessive-compulsiveness?"

"He hasn't really told me much about you at all, now that I think about it…" With discerning eyes, he looked over at the Professor, who was admiring the finish on the desk. Layton hadn't been intently listening, but heard enough to warrant a slight shiver over his skin. He didn't want to bring up anything, especially now.

"Ah, well, I told you she was my student. That's…about…really…all you really need to know, I suppose…" he stuttered, trying to find something else to latch his interest onto. He made sure to avert his eyes from Laura's, unsure (and afraid) of what her eyes would make him feel. Had he met his gaze with hers, he would have been more reassured that she was experiencing the same awkward embarrassment, the same limbo that he was trapped in. But he worked his attention upon a particularly ornate compass that sat like a paper weight atop the desk.

Laura snorted, breaking out of her own contemplative world. "Yeah, and Professor Layton was the most boring professor I had the misfortune to study under. When all you think about is rocks, your brain turns into one."

She chuckled along with Luke, both of them covering their mouths as Layton turned to face them, an incensed growl seething through his teeth.

"Laura Haris, if this is just going to be—"

"—of course, I wasn't any good in his class, so I had to be tutored. Every day, his office."

"Whoa, really? I thought you were pretty smart though," Luke said, astonished.

"Yeah, well, dusty artifacts aren't my forte. But of course, we rarely talked about any of that. He's much more interesting when you get to talk about everything else under the sun, everything _except_ archaeology." She crossed her arms and smiled smugly, triumphant. She was certain that the Professor was expecting further insults, given his blatant surprise. He stared with puzzled eyes.

"Um…"

"Be sure to listen to the Professor, Luke," she said airily as she walked around her desk, refusing to look Layton in the face. "He teaches you things you never thought you'd find important. He's more interesting than he looks."

Luke began talking with Laura after she finished her lectured opinion, the Professor looking up at her briefly, then returning his attention back to his reflection in the desk. Tossing her ending snub aside, he couldn't quite figure out why she'd talked him up, out of the blue. It was particularly uncanny, considering they hadn't spoken to each other on neutral terms since back in Italy, around a month ago. And that was prior to their argument in the hotel room.

After several moments of thinking to himself, he smiled, a familiar warmth coursing through his veins. It felt good, whatever it was that was sending positive sparks over his skin, throughout his body. It was foreign, old, but good, all the same.

All of a sudden, Laura's eyebrows furrowed, as if working out a puzzle or a finicky math problem, She walked about the room, looking upward at a slight angle towards the ceiling, or perhaps at the very topmost book shelves. Layton watched her circle the room, then poke her head out into the hallway. He frowned at how curious she was behaving. Luke seemed to be thinking likewise, as he looked at the Professor with a confused expression.

"Laura, whatever are you doing? Is something wrong?" the boy asked, although hesitantly.

"I thought he'd be around here by now, but I suppose he's outside…" She cupped her hands around her mouth and inhaled sharply. "Carbite!" she bellowed clearly, startling both the Professor and Luke.

"_Laura Haris_, what in the _world_ was that for?" Layton shouted, barely keeping himself from jumping out of his skin.

Stopping after the one call, she tilted her head to one side, apparently not hearing the question. She walked out of the office, not bothering to check if the others were even following or not, and called out again. Layton held onto his hat and jogged down the dim hallway, carpet muffling each of his and Luke's footfalls as they ran.

"Who are you looking for? Is there something I should know about? Laurie? Laura!"

They descended the stairs and continued through a maze of cubicles and closed office doors before dashing through the thick metal door that Laura had just ran through, exiting into a wide outdoor space, walled off at the perimeter. Several metal fences were aligned perpendicularly along the wall at regular intervals, giving the appearance of an outdoor jail, the cells barricaded with chain-link gates. Laura stood in the middle of the clearing, her hands on her hips as she fleetingly scanned the premises. With a frustrated sigh, the Professor caught up with her, Luke rushing up behind.

"Whatever was that about? Could you please tell me what you're doing? Who's 'Carbite'?"

"Well, it's actually 'Carbonite,' but 'Carbite' is his nickname. There's no special reason or anything really, no namesake, unless you really have an appreciation for chemistry, but…oh who bothers with _that_." She yelled out once more, her eyes looking about. "He's gotta be here somewhere."

"You told me this place was empty…"

With a frustrated whine and a glowering look, Laura rolled her eyes. "It is! Now, enough with the questions! I can't hear with you chit-chatting!"

Luke shrugged when Layton looked over at him, feeling insulted.

"Maybe it's someone who's shy?" the boy suggested timidly. "Or…a ghost."

The Professor wasn't convinced.

"Nonsense!" Layton grumbled. "This is just outrageous. A wild goose chase, by the looks of it! Laura, I demand that you—"

With a quick flutter and change in the sun's unwavering light, a medium sized shadow had formed on the ground, unbeknownst to the Professor. Luke spotted it and tugged on Layton's suit coat.

"Um…Professor?"

"Not now, Luke, I'm trying to—"

"Duck!"

"'Duck'? No, I said 'wild _goose_ chase', Luke. It's not to be taken literally, it's—" Glancing over his shoulder, the Professor barely had time to notice something very fast coming in at him from above. "What the _devil_—"

With a startled (and, although he wouldn't admit it, _frightened_) collapse to the ground, he barely avoided a painful and injurious collision with some large bird that had swooped down with a _whoosh_, the air rushing past his ears. As Layton dropped to his knees, his hat seemed as if it had suspended itself in midair, and in the split second between leaving his head and before gravity took hold, the bird flew just between his scalp and the hat's brim. Luke giggled as the top hat fell down and unceremoniously covered the Professor's eyes at a cockeyed angle.

With a graceful flap and a croak, the large black bird took its place on Laura's outstretched arm, rubbing its enormous beak against her hand. "_There_ you are, Carbite. You gave me a scare!"

"Gave _you_ a scare?" Luke said with slight exasperation, trying to assist the Professor to his feet. "It almost crashed into the Professor's face! Oh my, would you look at _that_…"

Brushing himself off, Layton stood quickly, thanked the boy, and gasped.

"Good heavens, is that a…"

"Toucan? Indeed," Laura said proudly, allowing the tropical bird to hold fast to her arm with its talons. It scaled her limb with ease as if it were any actual limb in a tree. "This is Carbite. He's a Keel-Billed toucan."

"_A toucan_?" Luke shrieked, half with delight, half with complete disbelief. He thought it was rather out of place, to have such a rare and exotic bird in such a drab locale. Its beak vibrantly contrasted with the grays and browns of the company building's exterior, the rainbow of colors definitely speaking louder than the bird itself. "What's that doing here?"

"Yes, I suppose it's odd he's here without his friends." Laura cupped her fingers around her mouth once more, smiling. "Ready or not, here I come!"

In a flurry of color and noisy excitement, a small flock of birds of all different species came out of the surrounding trees and fluttered and fanned its way to the young woman, many of the group's members vying to get a spot on her bent, outstretched arms. After shaking off his surprise and amazement, Layton did a quick headcount and counted no less than 15 different birds chittering and chattering, some squawking rather loudly as Laura crooned to them affectionately.

"There, there, you wild crazies, let's not get out of control…"

"Where in the world did all these birds come from?" Professor Layton said quietly, walking towards the flock slowly as Luke followed cautiously from behind.

Laura bit her cheek inside her mouth, thinking. "Well, the cockatoos are from Australia, but—"

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I just meant—"

"_NOT DAD_."

A few of the larger birds let out ear-piercing screeches as the Professor approached. They tossed their heads about and spread their wings, opening their beaks menacingly as they hissed. Laura grimaced as their beating wings ruffled her hair and their cries continued.

"Ouch, guys, that's loud…" she said, wincing.

"_NOT DAD, NOT DAD!_" they squawked, their bird-like cackling echoing throughout the courtyard. Their pitches increased and they flapped their wings, hissing in protest until the Professor backed himself up a couple of metres. Their fluttering waned and the squealing decreased considerably when they could tell that the top hat had moved back a favorable distance.

"I wonder why they're saying that," Luke wondered aloud, scratching his chin as he stood next to Layton. "_'Not dad_'? Are they talking to you, Professor? I wonder if they call Laura anything."

"If you mean '_Mama_', then yes, they do," Laura stated proudly. "Although, I can't say I've heard them say anything about '_Dad_', and _especially_ not any '_Not Dad_'s'". She turned her attention back to the birds, some of whom landed gracefully to the ground and were walking about stiffly on their thick, taloned feet. They looked up and over at her at different moments, croaking and chittering small sounds and words amongst themselves. "Anyway, let me introduce you. These guys are my company while working here. I allow them complete freedom of my office, as well as out here in the yards. They are particularly fond of me, so they won't leave the area."

Layton nodded slowly, still not comprehending. "Why are they here in the first place? It's hardly the most…_appealing_ of places for a flock of exotic birds."

"Well, Leopold supposedly bought them all a couple of years ago, one at a time, because he liked looking at them. The thing is, he never took care of them, and they started to show signs of neglect." She gingerly lured a large blue parrot to herself, lifting up its wings to reveal a very emaciated chest plate. "He's gaining some of his weight back, but he's still a bit small. But anyway, Leopold is their owner. Maybe that's why they didn't take to you? Calling you 'Not Dad'? You aren't their '_Dad_': Leopold is."

"It just seems a bit odd that they'd take to calling their owner 'Dad' and the man never cares for them," Layton protested carefully, trying not to appear as if he was challenging Laura's information.

"I see your point, but parrots and birds of this type bond easily. And they are _extremely_ intelligent, and they have excellent memories." Laura petted several of the birds affectionately, fishing into her pocket for something. She pulled out several treats from a small container that resembled a medicine bottle. "Maybe that's what they remember from Leopold, who they bonded with initially. Maybe they hold on to that scarce bit of affection from their owner? I don't know, it's my only theory. I don't know anything about their history."

"Perhaps…"

Luke stepped forward after a couple of minutes of watching Laura interact with the birds and hesitantly sat down on his heels, attempting to get closer to the flock's level. He shivered with nervousness when a large macaw climbed up his arm and began playing with his hat. He called out angrily when it began to chew holes into it.

"Hey! Back off now!"

Professor Layton was hardly aware of the birds' shenanigans as he tried organizing all of the information contained in his mind. Well, at least the pertinent information.

"And you're sure that they are Leopold's?"

"As far as I know. Leopold allowed me to be their primary caretaker. And they won't separate from me now. These birds bond like you wouldn't believe."

Layton hummed his agreement. "I just thought it would be more appropriate for Edward Chancey II to be the owner of such fine birds," he reasoned. "He was a seasoned aviculturalist. It was his side hobby. As he _is_ the co-owner, it seems more apt that he would own such creatures. You're sure these are Leopold's?"

Laura stood and stared at Layton with a curiously surprised expression, almost questioning what she'd heard. "Really? Well, I merely assumed they were Leopold's, as he's a bit flamboyant like that, just going on random shopping sprees for needless things. I never knew any better. I mean, I just listened to what he told me, and he said they were his. He's the only one I see around with a ton of cash to blow, so…it's not strange to figure they were his property. These are expensive birds after all. This one, for instance, reaches prices of over £8,000…"

"Edward Senior would have the money to purchase them as well, no doubt in my mind," the Professor continued with his theory. "But…I really don't think he is of the personality to leave them unattended, unfed, so…perhaps they really are Leopold's."

"Regardless, they are really friendly and happy now!" Luke called out from underneath a sea of large birds that had claimed the boy as their new favorite perch. "They think I'm a tree or something! Although I have to keep my hat out of reach…"

Luke laughed to himself as Laura smiled, but she was off in another world. She looked over at the Professor, also lost in thought over something. He shook his head and looked up.

"I think I'm going to do a bit more investigating. It's bothered me that the elder Edward has barely been mentioned, barely been a part of this investigation, and I find that odd. If he's equal to Leopold, as far as the company ladder is concerned, then he should be just as accessible to you, Laura. Yet you know nothing of him, even less than what you know about Leopold."

"You're right… He's the brains of the place, the strategist. That's about all I know. I talked with him years ago, when I won that's scholarship. That's the only time."

With a nonchalant nod, Layton hummed again. "Hmm. I find that odd…"

"If you want a good place to start, it wouldn't be trying to find him directly. His whereabouts are just as shady as Leopold's. Perhaps visit with some of his former colleagues. Edward Senior's I mean. I know of one here in town but…"

"But what?" the Professor asked, anxiously awaiting an answer. "Surely his friends would know of his whereabouts."

"Well, I'm not sure how good of a friend this bloke is. I know he was asked to be a potential business partner but… I've met him a couple of times, only because...well, that's not important. As to where he's located, all I know is that he's a frequenter of…well, certain _unsavory_ places, if you know my meaning."

"I—_oh_," Layton groaned. "Please don't say—"

"Yeah. That's just how it goes. I'm not too fond of him. But he's close enough to Mr. Chancey to have been a potential co-owner, so…"

With a deep sigh, Layton shrugged. "Well, it's imperative to get as much information as possible. We'll have to deal with it. Luke, let's head back to the apartment. I need you to help Rosa with chores."

"W-What? But Rosa's out for the afternoon!"

"She'll have returned by now."

"No way, I'm helping out with the investiga—" One pointed look from the Professor was all that the boy needed before closing his mouth, swallowing his disappointment, and nodding in agreement. "Okay…"

Laura groaned as she led the animals to their enclosed outdoor aviary. "I guess it was too much to want a short break from all this… Bye bye, little guys. I'll be back soon. I don't like you free to roam when I'm away."

"They aren't really 'little guys', are they? Anyway, a puzzle never sleeps, and neither does your employer," Layton said. "We need to figure this out posthaste."

"As you say, Holmes," Laura mumbled sarcastically. "But you aren't going to like this guy. Or his tastes. Just brace yourself, that's all I'm saying. Oh boy, I _do_ wish I knew more. I don't want to go this route to obtain information…"

Luke wondered all the way home what the other two were talking about, and decided if it was that badly confusing, he didn't want anything to do with it anyway. Rosa's cookies were calling, and it was enough to force any curiosity out of his mind.

With the boy left behind safely at the Professor's flat, Layton and Laura made their way through the London streets. It was drawing upon early evening, many restaurant goers rushing into their appropriate venues before missing their reservations. Laura led the way down a winding street that more closely resembled a back alley, riddled with overturned rubbish bins and puddles of morning rain in the pavement where potholes hadn't been filled in years. Then, turning a corner, warm reddish light blared at them from many store and establishment signs, their neon tubing tattooed across any eyes that stared for too long.

"What a questionable district," the Professor muttered to himself, scoffing under his breath as he glanced at one of the store fronts. A teasing lingerie peeked out from the display case, several others demonstrated by manikins alongside it. He blushed and hurriedly looked away.

"Indeed." Laura rolled her eyes as they passed several businesses advertising more adult-themed items and wares. A few restaurants were highly marketed towards the more lewd male demographic, offering food served by women practically begging to be objectified by whomever wanted to lay eyes on their 'goods' rather than what was being brought out on the platter. "The venue of champions! Anyway, here it is."

The Professor looked up at the building they'd stopped in front of, an odd expression on his face. "'Siren Song'? 'Gentleman's Club'?"

"Yup. 'Siren Song'. Don't let the name fool you, it's anything _but_ a gentleman's club…"

"I wasn't born yesterday," he grumbled testily.

"And neither were these girls inside. Better watch yourself."

The two were about to open the doors when a familiar croak came from behind a nearby trash can. Laura jumped at the sudden sound, staring wildly at the rubbish bin.

"That sounds a lot like… _Carbite_, what are you _doing_ here?"

The dark feathered toucan flapped lightly to the top of the metal can, his large beak turning curiously as he cocked his head with an inquisitive look. He ruffled his feathers as Laura hurried to him.

"How on earth did he manage to get out, _and_ follow us all this way?" The Professor couldn't help but laugh at how odd it was to see such an exotic bird in the city, let alone in the district they were currently in. "His beak matches the signage at least…"

"His 'pals' are very good at figuring out locks. Or just plain biting them off…." She collected the bird, curling him up like a large wad of fluffy yarn with a multi-colored, overly large and curved sewing needle poking out. "Here. He should fit nicely under here."

"What? Under my hat?" Before being able to protest further, Laura reached up and stuffed the toucan underneath the silk top hat, pulling it down onto his hair again. "You're going to hurt the thing!"

"Don't you know how toucans sleep? They huddle up in a narrow tree hole, with several—other –birds." She struggled to make sure that the hat fit tightly over the Professor's head, holding it fast against the weakly struggling bird. His beak poked lightly at the sides, little bumps appearing and disappearing as he tested the hat's limits over and over.

"He's clawing up my hair!"

"Oh, your poor wittle hair style is ruined!" Laura moaned, feigning compassion. "Would you shut up? You're balding anyway."

"I am _not_ balding!"

Finally, Carbite stopped scrambling, Layton preparing to wince once more if the talons should scrape against his head. He sighed as Laura's hands left the hat's brim.

"There. He's fine. Just don't make any quick movements, or he might start to get excited."

In a slight moment of panic, Layton gasped. "Is he going to…_go_ on me?"

"Not that, you dolt! He knows better than to defecate outside of his cage. But he'll probably try to get out, and that would be an awkward sight, to say the least. I shouldn't be bringing him along like this, but…it's the only way. Now, step lightly, and try to keep straight."

Stiffly, the Professor stepped through the first set of doors to the club, Laura following behind. She stabbed a finger into his back and hissed for him to loosen up, lest they look suspicious. They approached a blockish shaped bouncer that was manning the entrance. Layton went to tip his hat forward, but stopped after recalling his 'hat'-ed pal.

'_This is really going to take some getting used to…_'

The gorilla of a man gave an equally primate-like grin. Layton thought about how the brutish man in front of him and the bird beneath his hat would both be better off in some rainforest far away rather than in the heart of London.

"What have we got here. Wow, a real smooth operator." The large man chuckled to himself. "What's with that get-up? Hat 'n all?"

"_Where is Polonius?_" Laura said dryly, her expression bored. The monkey man shuddered and changed his tone and expression instantly. He stood upright and at attention as if his superior had just entered the foyer without prior notice, making a surprise entrance. Layton looked at him curiously, expecting something else to happen.

"_Not where he eats, but where he is eaten_," the guard responded with poise, holding his hand out towards the door behind him. Laura immediately walked through, the Professor glancing back and forth from the bouncer to the back of Laura's head, thoroughly confused.

"…_Hamlet_ references?"

"Keep up," Laura called behind her. "Don't get enticed. Rather, don't let _them_ be enticed."

"Whatever do you mean—"

The place was a loud, electronic mess, the music echoing off of the dark walls and floor, bouncing into the ears of whoever wasn't deaf enough yet to still appreciate it. A long drinks bar was lined with dozens of seats, all occupied, each patron awaiting their beverage of choice. Stages were placed around the giant room, a variety of dancers teasing their (predominantly male) audience with whatever sultry performance they had planned and rehearsed.

Laura continued walking through the crowd, pushing ahead when a scantily clad woman confidently walked between her and the Professor, stopping him dead in his tracks with a hand held fast against his chest. He took a step backward in surprise.

"Ma'am, I—"

"_Ma'am_? Whoo, someone's wrapped up a little too tight. Just as I thought," the woman purred with a devilish smile. She grabbed his hand. "Come back here with me and some of my friends. We'll help you unwind. First 10 minutes complimentary, since you're so cute."

"Aw, look, Trix, he's blushing." A second woman caught sight of her 'coworker' reeling in another customer and wanted her share of the catch. "What a gentleman! Look at this hat!" She went to remove it when Layton pulled down on the brim.

"Please, I like to keep this on!" he stuttered helplessly for a second before the woman labeled 'Trix' pulled the poor Professor by the arm and pushed him gruffly into a chair at the edge of a small stage. "Ladies, ladies, please, I really need to—I'm not here for— "

"Nothin' you need to do, sexy," Trix whispered, grabbing Layton by the tie and pulling him slowly forward. His eyes looked about frantically, trying to devise a way out. It was the only time, he would realize later, that his brain had panicked, as if wired to freeze in such a situation rather than wittily wriggle himself free.

"You got eyes, don't you?" the other woman crooned. "That's all you need."

"And a little direction… Come on, mister, loosen up. You're a man like all the rest that come in 'ere. It's in there somewhere... Tell me what you wanna see, handsome."

"No, no, you don't understand—" he tried, his plea strangled in the women's laughter and giggles. He struggled to break free, unwilling to harm the woman in front of him, yet dying to run away somewhere, anywhere without so much skin staring him in the face. She held tightly onto his tie with a vice-like grip, laughing playfully at his plight.

"Aw, since you're so tense, I'll break a little rule, just for you, and calm you down. Must be your first time, poor bloke." She lowered herself into his lap, straddling his waist. Completely floored, Layton madly tried convincing her that he wasn't there for entertainment, merely to meet a correspondent.

"Miss, please, I really can _not_ stand for this. I really…am not…" He tried shaking off her fingers, delicately playing into the hair on the back of his head, as he admittedly began to realize that he'd missed that experience of touch, someone's fingers dancing over his scalp, sending sparks down his spine. It wasn't the person that mattered, merely his memory…whatever memory it was from, he could barely recall vividly, yet somehow, he knew. He stared into space stupidly for a second before snapping back to the reality of the situation. "No, you can't do that!"

"Do what? I haven't done anything yet, you little devil." She gave him an inviting wink and poked him on the nose with one of her fingers. "Come now, let's remove that bothersome hat…"

"No, you can't do—!"

The woman's hand recoiled as she screamed. She had latched her fingers underneath the hat's brim, prepared to remove it, when something poked out and nipped at her finger.

"What the hell?"

The other girl looked at her friend with a concerned expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Something just…_bit_ me! From under the hat!"

"What are you talking about, Trix? It's a stupid hat." The girl pulled the hat off by its top and shrieked in horror as the freed Carbite flew straight into her face, his large beak creaking open with every dry croak he uttered. The Professor, hatless and still straddled by the obnoxious stripper, somehow found himself amused, watching in amazement as the bird flew over to the bar. It started at one end and hopped down the length of it, knocking over drinks and startling all who were still sober. Others pointed and laughed, not completely sure at what they were seeing. A true ruckus was born when the bird took to the air again, landing squarely on a dancer's shoulder, frightening her enough to make her faint. Her background-dancing comrades scattered, screaming.

Without warning, a strong _tch_ and a snort somehow sounded above the music.

"I give you an order, and you just ignore it," came a voice from behind the Professor's head, a particularly peeved and irritated tone, icily weaving itself between Layton and the woman still in his lap. The woman stood up quickly as Laura appeared, giving her a threatening look.

"Look, lady, no need to get jealous. That's what he's here for, after all. Had to follow him to the club, did you? You like playing mommy? And what's with the bird?"

"I honestly don't give a _shit_ what he does or wants to do in his spare time. He's not mine. After I'm done with my agenda, you can take 'im. As for the bird, he _is_ mine, so I'd actually like him back."

"No animals in the club, lady!" Trix hissed, her baby voice breaking under duress. "Don't you know how people work here? It's not a zoo!"

Laura looked around. "Hmm. I'd like to disagree on that. Actually, we are here for _real_ conversation and for _real_ work, not some cheap entertainment with you cows." With a quick movement, Laura grabbed the silk top hat from the other woman and plopped it haphazardly onto Layton's head. "Perhaps when you get a _real_ job, you'll understand where I'm coming from. Until then, enjoy those boob sacs before you're 60 and sagging. And perhaps try a bit of self-esteem. It may do wonders for those bedroom eyes of yours."

With a derisive sneer, Laura tugged the Professor's coat and continued on her way, leaving the two strippers gawking and speechless.

Turning on her heels, Laura looked behind at the havoc the jungle bird was causing. Several dancers were still running and screaming, afraid of the bird's formidable-looking beak. "You can take the toucan out of the jungle, but you can't take the jungle out of the toucan…" she sighed, a proud smile stretched across her face. "Suppose I need to cancel his fun. Carbite!"

Immediately, the bird glided across the room, landing lightly upon the Professor's shoulder, looking at him happily through dark, beady eyes. Layton smiled amongst the cacophony.

"You saved me there, little fellow. Perhaps you were right to accompany us after all!"

"Don't go getting yourself lost again, please, Hershel. At least, not until we finish this."

They walked away from the disgruntled group of people. Luckily, everyone hadn't paid much attention as to where the toucan had flown, and hadn't caught sight of him joining his owner once more.

"As much as I don't care about what _you_ do, Professor, I still don't want you catching an STD with me around. Seriously, some of those are viral through hand-to-hand contact. I refuse to contract such a belittling disease."

"What? I'd never—I mean, do you honestly think I'd ever _mean _to come to such a place and _do _such things? I _never_ want to venture down this street _again_," he said with a wipe of his brow and adjustment of his hat. "This…is madness, and _not_ a gentleman's _anything_! 'Gentlemen's club' indeed…"

"I love how the animalistic vibes of this place have killed your eloquence…"

Carbite was tucked safely away under the hat once again, Laura handing him a leftover snack from her pocket before pulling the hat down. They walked through a black, sheer curtain covering an entryway at the end of a long corridor. A man with a chiseled, leering face looked up from his sea of admirers, five or so women feigning to fawn over him. His carefree smile drooped slightly as he summed up who the intruders were.

"Off with you, ladies. Stay tuned though, stay tuned." The man shooed the women away, sitting up and brushing off his trousers. He grinned widely at Laura. "Ah, little Miss Laura. The prodigy. What brings you to these parts? Surely you aren't out of work yet?"

"I wouldn't work here if you paid me every pound in England," Laura said matter of factly, frowning. "That was my answer last time."

"Entertainment then? Don't tell me you're into the fare here?"

"If you're insinuating that I'm a lesbian, then _no_," she spat hotly, becoming more and more agitated by the man's quiet sniggers. "I have business."

"No need to be so testy!" The man signaled to two surrounding chairs, offering them a seat. He poured himself a cup of whatever alcohol was in the bottle on the table and offered that as well, both Laura and Layton declining. "Business, very good. Strictly business, I like that."

"Hmm."

"Who's your friend?" The man gazed intently at Layton, whose expression had hardened a great deal after his 'adventure' in the prior room. "Surely not _the_ Professor Layton? You have friends in such high places?"

"Are you really so surprised? Indeed, this is Professor Layton." She scoffed as the man reached forward to shake Layton's hand feverishly.

"A pleasure to meet you, mate. The name's Arthur G. Thackman. I've heard of you in many a journal, many a magazine. Academic-wise, I mean. I've cut from that scene since, but… I still have a hoard of respect for a man of the academic world."

The Professor managed to soften his smile a bit. "The pleasure is all mine, my good sir. Please forgive my rudeness. I was…well, in a word _accosted_ prior to joining you, but…" He grimaced uncomfortably as Mr. Thackman laughed.

"Oh, caught by the vixens, were you? You'd be excellent prey, in their eyes. Seems they like a smart boy, even though their own brains aren't much more than parties and sex. But anyway, why are you here, Laura? Surely, it's nothing about_ the_ business…is it?"

Laura nodded. "Yes. I don't care if you turned down the opportunity to work for Petrolite. This isn't anything about that. We have other questions."

"What's in it for _me_?"

"You still haven't changed much, have you?" she sighed. She and the Professor looked at each other briefly before returning their eyes on Mr. Thackman. In a glance, Laura transferred the reins over to her former teacher, unsure of how he wanted to handle the situation.

"Well, perhaps the peace of mind knowing that you helped out a friend of yours. That might be in it for you," Layton spoke gravely. "You are a friend of Edward Chancey the Second, are you not?"

Arthur smiled, nodding, almost affectionately. "Yep, I am. We went to the university together. Both got our masters together. Researched together. You could say we were more like brothers. We kept track of one another, always. Lunch every Thursday. I'd do anything for 'im, I would. I helped him out on many an occasion in the past. What's the ol' boy need?"

"Well, actually, Mr. Thackman, we were hoping you'd know yourself, being so close. Have you heard any word from Edward recently?

The man gave a wry grin, staring off to the side. "Can't say I have. Although we _were_ close… I thought maybe I'd made him angry. He wanted me to work for him but…I turned him down. After that, never a word from him. I made several house calls, even calls to the business, the company. Petrolite, you know. Never got a reply, a message in return."

The Professor looked at Laura, trying to find an answer to an unasked question. She shrugged.

"Sir, when was this, when Edward asked you to join the company?"

"Oh boy, this was…whoo, about 8 years ago? Yes, that's right. Supposedly, his brother handed it off to him, but I never knew of why. I never knew much about the details, but that for certain, I know. Anyway, Eddie—that's what I called him by the way; he called me Art—asked me to help him run the place, being an old friend and business manager. Not to mention, I have a pretty decent background in engineering. I wasn't into it, as much as the money enticed me. I couldn't have done a good job in that field, so I did Eddie the favor by not dragging him down with my lack of enthusiasm. After that, I didn't hear much, and after a certain point, nothing at all. I tried about half a year later to get back in touch. I left messages, I went to the company building to try and catch him. Nothing. So, I gave up."

The Professor sat forward, recording every word in his mind. "So you haven't heard anything from or about Edward for over 8 years?"

"That's the hard truth, Hersh."

The Professor barred his teeth against being called 'Hersh,' letting it roll off his shoulders before continuing. "And you know nothing about why the business was so abruptly handed over?

"Someone told me about a relative dying, but it wasn't here in England. Somewhere else. Italy? Yeah. But I never really bothered with that detail." He looked at his fingers, several rings casting small reflections of his unsettling grin. "Anything else? You're just going to interrogate me? Rather trite of Hershel Layton, don't you think?"

"Unfortunately, yes," the Professor said without pause. "Do you know anything about his son, Edward III?"

Mr. Thackman coughed against his beverage glass, not expecting the need to laugh. "Oh sure. That kid? He's a lazy sod. I heard he was shipped to America, attending some fancy engineering graduate school. Others have told me he's working for a construction firm there but…I know better. That boy can't build and think to save his life. Truly a dullard. I can't believe he's Eddie's son."

"Fair enough. Finally, Mr. Thackman, did Edward Senior ever mention a co-owner of Petrolite? Someone working alongside him?"

The man smoothed out his hair, shaking his head as well. "No, no. I was supposed to have that position. That's what he was asking me about. After I turned him down, I'm sure he got someone to do it with him, but…I have no idea who that would be."

"Have you ever heard of the name 'Leopold Chancey'?" Laura interrupted suddenly.

He shook his head. "Can't say I have. Leopold. That's a fancy name…" He cracked his neck, shook his head again as if in disbelief, then stretched his neck muscles. "But really, I don't keep up with that sort of business. I'm sure you could find those who enjoy getting their hands on top company secrets, but…not me. I just know the company is doing a great job with hiking up the prices on oil. What a monopoly! Eddie's made a bitter name for himself… Are we done soon, Sherlock? My friends are waiting for me."

The Professor nodded, wondering at the word 'friends'. "Oh, I'm sure they are. Yes, I am finished. You've been a tremendous help."

"My pleasure, Mr. Layton," Thackman said with an elated smile. "Maybe next time, we can shoot the bull with a few of my friends and a bottle of scotch. Assuming you'll be coming back…"

"Well—"

"It's been a great time, Arthur, but we must be going." Laura stood and smiled curtly. "You've been most helpful, and I'll contact you, should I need anything further. Have a good day."

Thackman chuckled. "As sharp and terse as ever, Miss Laura."

Layton nodded and followed Laura out the way they came in, not looking behind them even though a loud group of girls had returned to their post around Mr. Thackman. He was glad to be out of the man's presence.

"Well, that was a bit of a dud, although it did give us a bit more to work with," the Professor whispered once they'd made it outside the establishment.

"He didn't even know of Leopold. Either he really _doesn't_ pay much attention, or he's hiding something."

"I don't see what use it would be to hide such information, but a possibility, yes."

They walked out of the strange district and continued down a regular city sidewalk. The night was coming on quickly. A large clock on a building said 7:18.

"Wow, I have to head back…" Laura ran her fingers through her hair, staring straight ahead. Layton looked over at her.

"Where are you heading back to?"

"Um…where I'm staying," she replied quickly, shrugging.

They stopped at an intersection, waiting for the traffic light to turn. City lights blinked on and twinkled all around them, the night life yawning as it prepared for the darkness. The Professor looked at Laura inquiringly, arms crossed.

"Your office?"

"What?"

"You're heading back to sleep at your office, are you not?"

She looked away quickly, trying to hide a smile. "How…how did you know?"

He chuckled loudly as they hurried across the street. "Well, it's a bit odd that you'd be at the office on a day when everyone else had a holiday. Also, I noticed your belongings in your office earlier as if you live there, taking from them as you need things."

"Aren't you astute."

"Well, I'd like to think so," he muttered smugly. "Would you like to actually sleep in a real bed? How about you stay over at my flat?"

It was Laura's turn to laugh, and she did it with gusto. "That sounds like some sort of kinky invitation! Staying over at your flat, really! You don't even have any more beds."

"Well, for the sake of your well-being, at least until this is all figured out, you are more than welcome to use my bed, and I can take the sofa. I have plenty of spare sheets, pillows, blankets—"

"I accept," she sang happily, a slight skip to her step, as much as she could muster. "You know, it's been a while since I actually slept in a bed. Back in Italy, I think… You know the day I came to find you, and I stayed in a hotel? That was my resolve breaking. I paid for a night's stay because I hadn't slept in a bed in months."

He looked at her incredulously, as if she had done something terribly wrong in order to hurt him personally. "_Laurie_, why don't you get a place to live? Surely you're paid? What about your family, their house?"

"Me paying for a place is out of the question. I don't have the money to be paying for rent in downtown London. As for my family…" She looked away from him, cracking her thumbs. "Well, that's a whole other story."

"Well, either way, my place is open to you, as you need it. Feel free to decline the offer, I'm not forcing you."

"Admit it, you just want me to stay over." She giggled as his facial expression hardened, his cheeks red. "I'll just take you up on your offer."

"How is it that you're attacking me one minute, flirting the next…" he mumbled to himself, thankful the traffic was loud enough to cancel his voice out.

They walked back the rest of the way in silence until finally coming upon the public parking lot where they'd left the Laytonmobile. Once inside the vehicle, Laura cried out.

"It's amazing how this car is just the same, untouched by time! The same look, the same smell…"

"Nothing different about the Laytonmobile," the Professor mumbled shyly. He started the engine and was immediately transported back in time, his mind floating as it had when he'd taken her out for her birthday, or when they'd driven to the beach for a picnic. Turning the key seemed to have tossed him back into the past, to a happier time, a more experimental time when he could test the waters, get to know the object of his secret admiration. If he wasn't keeping himself in the present, he just might have leaned over and—

"Hershel?"

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, feeling the car jerk slightly as he was jolted back to the current time.

"Yes?" he croaked, regaining his poise.

"I'd just…like to—"

The car came to a screeching halt as the heavily irritated Carbite finally couldn't take another moment underneath the hat and hopped right down in front of the Professor. It looked up cheerfully at Layton from his lap, the Professor gasping and shuddering from fright.

"You just about killed us _all_, you mischievous little toucan! Luckily there's no one else on this road but us! Breaking like that…"

"He didn't know any better," Laura said with a smile, unfazed by the surprise. "Can he stay too?"

"I…suppose…so…" He was more interested in what she was going to mention before the feathered assault. "You were saying something—hold on to that bird, please!—but you stopped."

"Oh, it's…not important at all. I'll just…yeah, nevermind."

"No, I'm curious, what were you going to say?"

She absentmindedly stroked the fluffed bird that was now resting in her lap as she stared out of the window, longingly. "Well, I'd just like to say thank you. After all, you're going quite out of your way to help me with all this, and I'm not stupid: I can tell that you aren't in your element, that you're irritated, struggling…conflicted, even. It's not every day I could just contact a long-lost acquaintance and—"

"Acquaintance?" Layton said suddenly, accidentally pushing on the accelerator. He somehow didn't catch himself before speaking, although typically he would have. He couldn't contain himself. Righting wrongs had been a hobby of his for years, and this wrong was immediately grating.

"Er…well, you know…" She strained to view his face out of the corner of her eye. He merely stared forward, careful to keep a constant speed, but she could tell he was wounded. Somehow, she felt guilt.

'_Or is that…sympathy?_'

"I was hoping maybe for at least a 'friend,' rather than just an _acquaintance_," he said snappily, his attempt at being polite dashed by his boiling anger. He felt as if he could tear the steering wheel clean off of its mechanism, he was so incensed that he had been lumped into the group of 'acquaintance'.

"Okay…long-lost _friend_ then," she corrected herself, though it was forced. "What happened to your patience? And what does it really matter so much what I call you, Hershel? You're so irritable lately."

He bit his lip, using his silence as an answer and an apology of sorts. They sat in quiet until they arrived at the little flat. A dull light spilled from a set of windows, blending into the night. Both Laura and the Professor exited the car, Layton taking his time to lock up as Laura began to walk towards the staircase to the entrance, still holding Carbite.

"Laura," he called after her sharply. She stopped and turned around, startled.

"What is it?"

He stuffed the keys into his pocket and took a few quick steps to meet up in front of her. "Are you just hiding yourself very well, or am I a complete idiot?"

"You're a complete idiot," she said plainly, using all of her energy to suppress a laugh. The corners of her mouth quivered painfully, wanting to smile.

"Emotional honesty was never your policy. Regardless, I'm…sorry for being so short with you. It's just…well, I think I just need to—you're right, I haven't been as patient as I typically am, but—"

"Hershel, please." She reached her hand out and patted him on the shoulder, resting it there briefly. "Just take my thanks, okay? No hard feelings. I'm really appreciative, really, I am. Worries and stress have been such a prominent part in my life and for the second time, you're helping me break from that."

"Second time?"

"Get your ears checked. I said _first_ time."

"No you most definitely said—"

"_Anyway_, thanks, okay? You're confusing, but you're also a great asset. I need you for this, or else…well, I don't know what will happen. I'm getting more and more anxious, each day that passes. I feel I'm missing something, something important, and it may be to my—well, _our_—detriment."

He nodded slowly, staring at his shoes. "Of course."

"Now, can we go in, please?"

Sighing, the Professor hung his head, then grinned. He climbed the staircase quickly and had the door unlocked by the time Laura ascended. He unintentionally placed his hand on her lower back as he ushered her inside, recoiling just as his fingers brushed the fabric of her shirt.

'_Old habit…_'

Luke ran to the door, sporting a pair of striped pajamas, Flora following closely behind.

"Finally! I waited all night long. Oh my goodness, Carbite! What's he doing here?" Luke yelled out happily. "See Flora, I told you there was a toucan!"

"Oh my!" Laura handed off the bird to the children, who took to playing with him cheerfully in the kitchen, watching him hop and click about on the tile floor. Luke looked up suddenly and ran back to the living room.

"Oh yeah, Professor. Rosa fell asleep."

A little finger pointed towards the couch, where the sleepy Rosa had dozed off, reading _The London Times_.

"Can't blame her; the paper has gotten boring ever since they took on a particularly strong political agenda," Laura grumbled with minor irritation. "Father hated the papers."

She walked to the kitchen, expressionless, as Luke followed, drilling her with a series of questions. Layton hung up his coat and hat, massaging each of his feet briefly after removing his shoes.

"Ah, poor Rosa, she's certainly underpaid for this position. There, there, Rosa, you're free to go home now," he said softly, gently shaking her awake. She blinked multiple times before staring up into the Professor's smiling face, responding with a resounding _hmph!_

"Out all hours of the night, parading around and leaving these children to fend for themselves. Hmph! It's just bloomin' outrageous. Who's to cook and watch over the little doves?" she ranted without restraint, struggling to find her shoes. The Professor guided her gingerly to the door. "No guardian, just unheard of, who's to watch 'em?"

"You were, my dear Rosa, and I thank you," Layton answered calmly. "Would you like me to guide you to your flat?"

"Just…just outrageous…."

Taking her obliviousness as an answer, he looked towards the kitchen, signaling to the others he'd be leaving for a bit.

"She's having a bit of trouble…"

Laura nodded, giggling with the children. After about 10 minutes, the Professor returned, chuckling to himself. Only Laura sat at the kitchen table.

"That was a short date."

He shook his head, still grinning. "I do hope she doesn't sleepwalk as well as she sleep-_talks_." He walked lazily to the table and sat across from his guest. He slumped forward, exhausted. "What an interesting day…"

"To say the least."

"A drink?"

"Not tea."

The Professor poured each of them a glass of milk, fetching himself the kettle for his own tea ("Fine then… I'll make it for myself," he said under his breath.).

Laura took the cup from the Professor, looking into space as if in deep thought. "I'm not sure how much weight to place on Mr. Thackman's answers, but what he said about Mr. Chancey is peculiar," she said softly, placing the glass of milk to her lips. "Thank you."

"Indeed—and you're most welcome. We need to find out more about the history of the company. The thing that's bothering me the most is that no one seems to know about Leopold, even though he seems to be the heart and soul of the operation. Anyone as close to Edward as Arthur Thackman should know a little more, and it's strange that he doesn't."

"Well, he does keep himself shrouded in secrecy, Leopold, I mean. He never shares more than necessary, even with those that he's closely involved, such as myself. Plus, as I told you, most of those closest to him in the beginning no longer work at Petrolite; they were let go. I'm really the only one left on that front."

The Professor got up to fix his tea, returning with a hot cup and a strong sigh to match. "I still have my reservations about this Leopold character, and I don't know why."

"Your intuition?"

"Perhaps. I just wish I had a venue to figure things out conclusively. There's very little to go on, and I want facts." He sipped from his cup, slurping slightly before swallowing. Then, silence.

Laura cleared her throat, the stillness eating at her.

"I don't know if it will amount to anything at all, but I have another project."

Layton looked up at her with interest. "Another project? You mean, a drilling destination?"

"Yes. I don't know how much it would help our investigation, but it's all I have to offer for now. I found out this afternoon, just before you came over." She pulled out a folder from her trusty messenger bag, which she had been carrying around all day, the Professor now noticed. "Confidential information."

Layton frowned. "Oh… I don't suppose I could—" She pushed the yellow folder over to him.

"Like I care? Confidentiality means nothing to me in this case." She allowed him some time to flip through the thick amount of materials inside, not that he would understand all of the jargon. "It's in America."

"Yes, so I see… Stabilnon, South Carolina. Ah, on the coast, lovely. Well, of course, off-shore drilling… I can't say I've ever heard of the place. Petrolite's reach is vast."

Laura snorted. "You have no idea."

"Well, looks quaint and interesting enough." He smiled at her, almost fondly, like he used to, only with a bit more wise of a glance, perhaps. "When do we depart?"

"'W…We'? What do you mean?"

"Well, we're going together, correct?"

"But, I…listen, Hershel. Like I said, I really do appreciate your help, but I really don't feel right dragging you around the world, solving my problems. I thought about this long and hard over the past month, and it's just not right to do that to you, and the children. It's not fair to put that on all of you, and I should have known better. I knew you'd help, no matter what, and I just—"

Luke and Flora barreled into the kitchen, Luke sliding on the tiles with socked feet. He huffed defiantly like a pint-sized bull, Flora right behind him with a concerned look. The toucan gripped the girl's arm like a vise, looking about to see what the commotion was.

"Miss Laura, don't you dare think for a second we'd back down to a challenge! You gave us a puzzle to solve, and it's up to us to help you out!" The boy crossed his arms and glared her down with stubborn eyes.

"Luke's right," Flora piped up softly. "The Professor's the best at solving problems, and yours is no different."

"You're his former student after all! That should hold for something!"

Laura stared into her lap, then up at Professor Layton. She was surprised to find his smile still holding, unwavering despite the children's unexpected entrance.

"Eavesdropping, are we, Luke? Ungentlemanly behavior."

"But, Professor, I—"

"No 'but's' about it, Luke. I commend your concern, above all else." Luke held his breath, then exhaled, surprised and relieved that he wasn't admonished further. Layton turned his attention over to Laura. "Laurie, you have a committed group here, willing to help you out. There's no gain for us, other than to assist you well. After all," she could have sworn that he winked, "that's what a gentleman does."

"And a gentle-lady!" Flora quipped. They all laughed, shocked she'd spoken up so confidently.

"And a gentle-lady," he responded, nodding. "So, what do you say, Laura?"

She sat silent. She'd forgotten friends, and help, and caring. Ten years was a long time to stew, her frustration turning to anger, then to sadness, then to apathy. An apathy that fermented for ten whole, solid years.

And then, an opening. A white piece of paper, that told all that needed to be known.

She glanced up with a bright smile, but looked about the kitchen as if too shy to direct it to any one person. "Well, it's hard to turn you all away… I suppose I'll use your help then, when and where I need it. Thank you, all of you. I suppose I forgot what it's like to have others willing to help, when I've gone so long doing everything myself."

Luke opened his mouth just as Flora clapped her hands together, but the Professor cut both of them off with a loud _ahem_.

"Anyway, to bed with you, both of you. It's dreadfully late, and past your bed time," he said firmly, waving towards the bedrooms. "And no more listening in."

"Such a killjoy…"

"_Luke_."

"Going, going!" the boy squealed before scampering off. "…_Captain Serious_…"

"I was thinking more of '_Major_ _Letdown_'," Flora whispered as they left, but just audible to make Laura laugh uncontrollably. The Professor looked at her, confused.

"What's so funny?"

"What they think of you, that's all."

"What'd they say?"

"That your hearing is going, going, gone, _old man_." She rose from her seat and flashed him a smug grimace as she walked to the sink.

"Now see here, I would have heard them say that—"

"That's the point: you didn't hear anything! Guess your common sense is going too…" She looked over her shoulder as she rinsed out her glass. The Professor leaned his head against his hand, his arm resting on the table, a bored and sarcastic expression making his eyes appear glazed over with feigned annoyance. "Oh my, we'd better have a mediator step in before you're a stubbornly boring vegetable blurting out some equally boring lectures on crusty rocks! You look like you're already fading! Ha ha ha!"

"You're hilarious, absolutely adorable," he grumbled, joining her at the sink.

"I'd like to think so," she retorted, grabbing the dish towel and tossing it atop his head somewhere between him getting lost in thought and hearing Laura laugh again.

He didn't let her know it, but he really meant his words. He felt a bit guilty, saying the truth, but sarcastically expressing it, covering it up. Since when did he lie?

"So, where am I sleeping? Take that towel off your head and help me out," she called, walking away.

After finishing up with the kitchen cleaning, the Professor gathered up some spare bedding and laid it at the end of his bed. Laura groaned.

"I don't have any of my things. Do you have a casual shirt that you could spare as well? Sorry for all this."

"I…might have something," he said, a bit muffled as he dug through his closet. "Aha, here you go."

Laura caught the familiar article—the sweater he'd lent her during that fateful rugby game, when she started feeling things foreign and taboo—in her hands, rubbing the material with trembling fingers.

"A sweater?"

"I know _that_ fits you just fine. A bit larger than needed, but it's good enough. Do you need anything else?"

The bridge of her nose got hot, that all too recognizable sensation before uncontrollable sadness invades the mind. She (metaphorically) grabbed her wits by the horns, screaming at herself to wake up and shake her head.

"I…" She felt him look at her in earnest, wanting an answer. "I guess not."

"Is Carbite safe with the children?"

"Oh yes, he's…just fine, he's fine."

"Well, let's get these switched." The Professor reached for the new, clean sheets, ready to switch out the bedding, when Laura smacked at his hand.

"No!"

He recoiled, looking at her strangely. "Is there…a problem?"

"Don't make…yourself do any more than you have to… I'll have no trouble changing them." She picked up the spare sheets herself and held them close to her. "I'll just do it myself, okay?"

With a quick, curious glance, Layton nodded. "As you wish… If you need anything, I'll be right out in the living area."

"Okay."

"…have a good night, Laura."

"L…Likewise…" She smiled to let him know it was all well, but he still gave her a concerned look as he tucked through the door.

The door was shut. She waited until his footfalls were no more, and the lamp switch was pulled from outside the room ("Are these walls really that thin…?"). Quickly, she removed her dress and shirt and pulled the thick sweater over herself. She'd worn it before and bawled all over it. She didn't even remember washing and giving it back, but apparently, she had. And he somehow remembered. But now…it was just her. Her and…

She threw herself on the bed, stretching her legs, rubbing her curled toes against the cool cotton sheets. She buried her face into the Professor's pillow, breathing in deeply as she hugged it. It was something along the lines of intimate, sleeping in another's bed, even without the other person in it. The personal scent left behind was enough.

"Oh God… It's like, an instant aphrodisiac. So many memories associated with that scent…Perhaps too many…why am I admitting all this?" She moved around the bed, enveloping her body in the loose sheet. His delicate yet unique scent entered her brain as much as it did her nose, that strange mix of herbs, spices, and maybe aftershave? She didn't care, it was something masculine; she'd never smelled it on any woman she'd been around.

"I really look like an idiot, but…"

'_but no one else has that scent, no one. Nobody at all._'

She smiled stupidly, finally reaching out towards the night stand to tug on the lamp's chain. Her mind continued relishing the fabric's intoxicating smells. Finally, a night of settled sleep.

"I can finally sleep in a normal bed, and…hmm heh heh, I've never felt this calm in years…"

'_If I had control, I'd never leave this place. Ever._'

She felt tears form at her eyes, a nagging sense of reality pelting at her from within. The truth was, she really didn't know anything anymore, who was around her, what they intended, how they felt. An emotional roller coaster, or perhaps more like someone playing her like a paddle ball, as she came awfully close to finding stability a few times, but she just had to bounce back and recover when things turned sour.

The truth was, she couldn't be honest with herself, nor those she cared most about, and one of the things that was causing it, _was_ herself.

"I just…trust is…well…"

'_I won't be hurt again. I will_ not_ be hurt again. I'm not playing the game._'

She wasn't typically the sort to revel in the ephemeral, but she gripped the pillow firmly, even for just one night, and sighed against it, the smell catching hold of her falling into sleep, wishing her off well as she drifted into even more turbulent nightmares.

END.

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**Enter Carbite, the best bird in the world. He's featured on my Deviantart account, if you're so curious (delete the spaces; links don't work for me...): 008kenichijoui . deviantart . com**

**REVIEW, CHILDREN. More to come soon.**


	30. CHAPTER 30: OF LOCKS AND SNOWFLAKES

**First off, I'd like to thank everyone for their input about roleplaying. Please bear with me, as I have no internet (I have to bike to the nearest grocery with Wi-Fi) at my house, so my internet time is nil. I will reply to all in time!**

**I got to thinking: making this story PURELY follow a strict plan is boring. I could run through the main backbone of the thing, but…there'd be nothing FUN. Only main ideas. No randomness.**

**So, I wrote this chapter. I meant to move the story along, but…I want to update more slowly in that regard. I'm not ready to let this story go just yet, even though I'm already working on a sequel, and an entirely uncanon Layton story. Therefore, I'm not going to rush it, and just write out the main steps of the main point of the story. You get my drift, pal?**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy. It's a bit of fun, I think…**

**As always, read and review, and correct any mistakes/typos/grammatical errors you find. Correct errors, not the content, please. Construction criticism and suggestions ALWAYS accepted! Anything you think would make a good part of the story? TELL ME.**

**Digesting several pounds of watermelon,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 30: OF LOCKS AND SNOWFLAKES**

Professor Layton awoke with a start, as he had done on many an occasion for the past few months. He strained to see the clock, a bright-red, digital reading of the morning hour blaring through the blackness.

"6…6:15." He slumped back into his pillow and pulled his blanket tighter about him. His head throbbed. The room was dark, a welcoming atmosphere for one with a severe headache. "Guh, I suppose…I must get up…"

The daily grind: filling the tea kettle (difficult with sleepy eyes). Barely setting the oven knob correctly (another difficulty, could have brought the whole complex down in flames). Oatmeal in a bowl (instant, had to eat it up). A quick flight to the bathroom, then to the front door (Morning paper? No, must be late…).

He flopped himself down at the small kitchen table, the chair's cheap metal frame creaking in protest. He pulled his robe closer—the December air had been creeping into the cracks of the poor flat and freezing the place like a crisper—and began to doze off, for how long, he didn't know. But he was awakened once again by the sharp screaming of the kettle.

"Yes, yes, I'm up…" He grumbled as he rubbed his forehead.

He allowed a mug of Earl Gray to steep as he poured the rest of the water into his bowl, the small, flat oats swirling helplessly against the hot water torrent. They floated for a bit, then went into another whirlpool as he mixed it slowly, careful not to hit the sides of the bowl with the spoon. It seemed as if any noise, any at all, made his head split. He must have slept wrong, his neck at an odd position, perhaps.

The daily post-breakfast shower followed, this time with hotter-than-usual water. He stood in the waterfall, eyes to the ceiling, a searing pain cutting through his skull, as if it meant to break his head in two like a dropped watermelon. He proceeded to wash as usual, rubbing his temples at intervals.

He'd steamed up the mirror—unintentional, of course—but the close-to-scalding water had loosened up his nerves considerably. He stepped out and reached for a towel, shivering as his toes touched the cold tile. Residual wisps of steam danced about, scattering as he walked through them.

One towel about his waist, he went to take another from a nearby shelf before realizing he hadn't replaced his stock with clean ones.

"Add that to the list…laundry…" He removed the one he was wearing to wipe down the damp mirror, the physics of condensation having caused the humid air to cool, crystal beads clinging to the glass.

Layton smiled, then frowned at his reflection, running his fingers through his hair.

"Oh no, don't tell me that's a gray—"

It seemed to take an hour to realize what only took a second to complete: the door, open, and a sluggish Laura standing in the entry way, her eyes squinted as if someone invisible were pinching them shut; Layton, leaning towards the mirror, untoweled, in the middle of picking through strands of hair on his scalp. He stared, completely stunned that someone had just entered when he was…well…

'_I didn't lock the blasted, bloody door?_'

Laura turned towards the toilet, reaching to open the lid, apparently oblivious to who was standing stark naked in front of her. Then, without warning, she stopped dead in her tracks as if frozen solid, her wits returning at the speed of a bulldozer fallen off a cliff—a solid 9.8 meters per second squared? Perhaps faster.

Her head turned slowly, her eyes now wide and terrified like a deer-in-the-headlights. Layton's expression couldn't have mirrored or mimicked it any better than a practiced parrot. Both stood for what felt like eons, but in reality, the reaction time was—

"_God save the fruh-eaking Queen_, WHAT THE _HELL_—" The girl spun around and stubbed all five of her right-foot toes full-force into the doorframe as she tried to flee, resulting in another parade of profanity. The bedroom door slammed behind her, hiding her from sight, as the Professor reclaimed his towel and shut the bathroom door with the same force, thoroughly embarrassed and shocked. He wasn't sure which he felt more strongly, to be honest.

He was thankful he would be gone and at the University long before she woke up for the day. He'd deal with the embarrassment later, should she remember… Maybe she was still asleep enough to not pay the situation any mind? He probably wasn't going to be so lucky. Oh well, he'd save it for the dinner table. Well, maybe after the kids went to bed…

'_Dear God…_'

Needless to say, his headache had disappeared completely, the pain drowned out with all the excitement.

Hours later into the afternoon, he nervously conducted his lectures, still shaken from the morning, even moreso from his enchanted female students that relentlessly smothered him. With the Christmas holiday coming up, he'd had several packages and parcels unceremoniously dumped at his door and into his already-full arms, carrying books and notes around from his morning lectures.

"I do…thank you for these, but I'm having…a bit of trouble carrying all of this," he grunted, attempting to walk straight down a stuffy corridor, followed by a group of giddy students. Needless to say, they were all women. "If you don't mind me ducking into my office for a bit to put these things…urgh, ow, to put these things aside." He tried maneuvering his arms around a particularly sharp-cornered box, fishing in his pockets for his office key.

"Hershel! There you are my dear boy!"

A wizened old man on the short side waddled down the hallway, pushing through the Professor's 'company'. He was wearing a deep burgundy suit, and had only tiny wisps of white hair left atop his shiny dome of a head. He breathed as if struggling, hacking after each drag of breath. The girls all stared, annoyed at the intruder.

The Professor, on the other side of the spectrum, tried showing his thankfulness and enthusiasm through the mound of boxes he was holding. "Ah, Dean Delmona! You couldn't have come at any better of a time! Honestly! If you wouldn't mind helping me with a few of these boxes, my good man…"

They managed to shove the gifts into the office, a few of them popping open and revealing their contents perhaps a bit too soon. But all was well when the door finally closed, the Professor wishing his students a sobering farewell, much to the girls' disappointment.

"Ah. Alone. At last."

"I say, Hershel, you have quite the group following you about. You're quite popular with the ladies, perhaps tone the charm down a bit? Science is getting annoyed." The old man grabbed for a seat, thankful to let the chair deal with the gravity.

"The science department can hold their own, I'm sure. Is it really my fault that discovering glimpses of the past through artifacts is so attractive?" he chuckled, shaking his head. "What to do with all these…"

"I dare say, my grand-daughter would love many of these little trinkets. Sweets, biscuits in this one… I wonder what is in the rest of them? Let's take this big one here…" He pried the top off of one of the flat, wide boxes, his eyes growing in disbelief as he rummaged through its contents. He looked up over the silver frames of his glasses as they slipped down the bridge of his nose. "Really now!"

Layton now looked over from his desk, curious. "What is it—oh dear…" He blushed as the Dean held up a particularly racy article of feminine clothing, the tissue paper falling from it as he held it above his head. The lingerie may have had less material than the tissue paper did.

"Note says… 'I want this returned… Heart, Leslie? Who's Leslie?"

"Must be a student… Dean Delmona, I've told you about this problem before, I can't go _one_ holiday without receiving all these…_trinkets_, as you so affectionately called them—"

"Nothing to worry about, Hershel. Back in the day…" he pulled on his suspenders, barely visible from underneath his suit coat, and puffed out his chest, "I used to have the same problem, the ladies flocking to my office for advice, trying to buy extra credit with their vile, thieving feminine ways. This is what you have to look forward to, Hershel! A cozy dean position at Gressenheller, and all the negative, aggressive attention you can handle! Heh heh."

The Professor massaged his eyes ("And it's not even 1 o'clock…"). He didn't like it, thoroughly not impressed with the image of him balding and crumpled while helping manage a university, but he smiled and nodded anyway.

"Absolutely, Dean Delmona. A respectable position, and quite the reputation to boot."

"There _was_ a reason I came to see you but…" The man stuffed his hand into a pocket, pulled it back out, and scratched his head. He did this three times before shaking his head and sighing. "I don't recall, really. Probably will come to me later. You don't mind me popping in, do you, Hershel?"

"I would love nothing more, my good man. Anytime." He helped the Dean out the door. "Whenever you remember."

"Yes, yes… Was it a puzzle? No…it couldn't…" the man mumbled, plodding down the quiet hallway as the Professor returned to his post behind his desk. No sooner had he sat down that his stomach growled furiously, the empty feeling associated with hunger burning from within.

"I'd better go grab something for lunch…"

"I daresay you should!"

He looked up to find Laura at the open office door, her lips tracing out a cat-like smile. She had the face of a child, but the cunning of a practiced politician, and her smile proved it so.

"Oh, Laura…it's you…" He felt his face get hot, and he removed his suit coat. "How did you get here?"

"Cab."

"I wasn't expecting to see you until much later this evening."

"And I wasn't expecting to see _any_ of you until then either. But…let's just say that we don't always get what we expect, now do we?"

He groaned, closing his eyes. "I'm…terribly sorry for this morning. It seems I forgot to lock the door. I only have my headache as an excuse. It was a rather painful one, I just wasn't thinking clearly, and—"

"Save it, Hershel. I didn't see…too much really…" Blushing once more, her turn. "Oh boy, okay. Erm, let's get on with business then shall we? First, how's your headache doing? Heh heh…" She walked towards the desk nervously, wringing her hands together, cracking her joints.

"So you _do_ get embarrassed?" And…his turn for a self-aggrandizing grin. He laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the glossy top of the desk, . No response from the girl now standing before him, licking her teeth and looking anywhere but at the Professor.

"Well, nobody wants to see _you_ naked! It's a fright thinking about it, it's more of a fright to actually experience it!"

"Well, my students don't think so…" He pointed to the pile of gifts, including the half-opened box containing the lingerie. Laura scoffed, rolling her eyes almost to the back of her head.

"Nice. You'll look even better in that."

"No, it's—it's not for _me_! It's intended for the girl who gave it to me, I—wait, that—that's not supposed to mean what it sounded like…" He expelled a gravely sigh, glaring into a corner of the room as Laura roared, covering her face, uncovering it again, slapping her legs and doubling over in a seemingly painful bout of laughter. He waited for a few seconds, expecting her to stop. No end in sight. "Stop laughing at me, or I won't take you out to lunch."

Her laughter subsided with one last, long, _Whoo, what a riot_, and she wiped her eyes. "I should report you to the Dean… Wait, lunch?"

"Yes, I meant to make you dinner tonight but since you're here now, might as well treat you to lunch. Apologies for earlier."

"Buying my silence, are you?"

"…I wish I could buy a new morning but…"

"Good, we can discuss our plans over something better than that slop you cook up at the flat."

"Plans?" he asked as he cleared off his desk, ignoring her insult. He was getting better at that.

"Er, I have a trip to America in two days. Aren't you coming?"

"Yes…I…let me get my things straight. Okay, today's exams, final lecture notes, research grant application. Ah, alas, the deadline is soon, I'll have to get that in before heading out… Very good, everything tucked away, I'm famished, let's go!"

He pranced around his desk, tossing a pile of papers onto an already disheveled cabinet. He smiled while walking briskly to the door, his arm loosely draped across Laura's shoulder blades as he ushered her out of the room. She gave him a sharp look as if scrutinizing his intentions.

"What are you on about?"

"What, I can't be a bit excited for the end of semester? The finals are as antagonizing to me as they are for my students."

"Not that. You're a bit too…un-Hershel."

"'Laytonesque', 'un-Hershel'…how does everyone come up with these words? Merriam-Webster would be happy to give you a job at this rate."

"Very funny… I mean, you've been a bit too giddy for someone as debonair as you let on. I guess I know you better."

"Hmm, I guess you do."

They walked out of the building and joined a chittering crowd of students that was heading towards the front gates. Laura noticed the college crowd was slightly different than when she was in school, but the little arrogant bastards still had the same uppity groove that set them apart from "commoners". They broke off from the group as they continued down a different sidewalk, the students' voices trailing off as they continued through the cold. As for the pair, Laura and the Professor were silent.

The winter hadn't been particularly snowy, but was bitterly cold. Layton tucked his scarf further into his coat collar, pulling down on his hat as a sharp breeze nipped and bit at his ears. Laura made sure her earmuffs and gloves were secure, but otherwise was unfazed. Winter was her muse, and it delighted her on a daily basis with patterned snowflakes and rustling, sharp breezes. It kept the lazy and the fat indoors, and the clean, evenness of a snow-laden landscape gave her ease.

Of course, it required a bit of extra clothing (an annoyance), but she was well aware she couldn't have everything.

Layton led them to a tiny tea house, warm and inviting even from the outside. The poor storefront sign—THE DAILY GRIND, in thick, green lettering—swung back and forth, squeaking on its equally poor chains. They entered, skin prickling as the cold in their bones found its match in the warmth that now caressed their faces. Jars upon jars housed tea leaves and coffee beans from around the world along the back wall, appearing almost as a gigantic wall decoration rather than an opportunity for an exotic brew.

Laura turned up her nose.

"I know, I know, but you'll enjoy the fare," the Professor said quickly, noticing her displeasure. "The owners are German."

"Really, now? Perhaps I won't be so harsh on it then."

Choosing a table near the window, they sat down and found no trouble starting up a conversation about whatever came to their minds. It was as if nothing had ever happened that morning. In all honesty and actuality, it was as if the past 10 years had never happened, chit-chat came so easily.

It had been a smooth transition, from the slowly cooling weather of September to the harsher winds of December. The climate of the apartment was also pleasant, Laura's presence fitting in fluidly with the lives of the others. Of course, there were jagged bumps concerning her and the head (or perhaps 'top-hat') of the strange 'family', but…expected.

They would chat and argue and nit-pick and fuss almost every morning and evening during the week, Laura taking up a punctuated, temporary residence until further notice. She'd watch over and teach the children in exchange for food and lodging on most days (when she could safely leave her work and office, without bothersome questioning from superiors), and the Professor would go to teach at the University. Laura had decided it beat sitting behind a stuffy, elitist desk, no matter how many times she'd have to reteach Flora how to solve for 'x'.

Of course, they'd had their differences, rather blatant ones that caused a few major upsets within the small flat, Laura finding it difficult to contain her anger despite the children present. It was apparent even from the most mundane actions of any given day, for instance, cooking. The Professor would cook simply, hardly using any variation in seasoning or spice ("Bland, bland, bland," Laura would grumble in a bored yet sing-song voice, trilling on the last _bland_, for a long _bla-A-a-A-aaand_). She would use two whole heads of garlic at a time, as if fumigating for vampires, causing both Professor and children to steer clear of the kitchen, driving them to the outer limits of the house until significant air flow was established. Concerning organization, the Professor's ability to trash a room with a library of open books and scattered papers and preserve that image for days baffled her, one with a tendency toward the obsessive-compulsive. After two weeks of stay, Laura had already organized every drawer and cabinet in the house and taken inventory, composing a report that indicated the Professor's spending habits on new commodities such as soap refills and packages of toilet paper, when he still had enough to survive through a nuclear holocaust, should the need arise. The reporting of this information was met with a blank stare and heavy breathing, as if Layton wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed or ruined, his gentlemanly conduct dashed by his more natural tendency to…disarm a space of its order.

"It doesn't help when I'm trying to teach Luke about how to behave, and you're pointing out all of my personal flaws," he muttered quietly when he and Laura were alone one evening. She looked up at him with a confused expression, a 'Well, why are you flawed then?' sort of glance. "Is it necessary to provide a purchasing chart?" he said after a long slurp of his tea cup.

"You will save over £500 a year with this model that I have written up. Now, should you choose—"

"_Laura_. It's _toilet paper_."

"And you spend too much on it. You have to note sale times at stores, and bulk prices, and really, you're quite stocked as it is, it's ridicu—"

"And another thing that's happened too often to let it go: I go to class smelling like an Italian eatery. I'm asking that you not use garlic anymore when you cook. It's fusing into my closet."

Her face contorted into an ugly snarl, failing to hide her building irritation that he wasn't interesting in listening, rather, chastising her for efficiency and good taste. Who'd he think he was, the Queen? "Who cares? Garlic smells fine," she stated plainly, as if a fact.

"It's offensive to many noses, and I'm not going to be the one offending anyone with my vampire-warding coat."

She stood and stomped off, knowing that if she stayed any longer, she'd end up saying something scathing and unforgiveable, not that she cared about forgiveness. She called behind her, "You blow off my advice, and then take my garlic. Real suave, Hershel. Fine, I'll get rid of the garlic."

He found 5 raw, potent garlic cloves in his jacket pockets the next morning during a departmental meeting.

But it hadn't all been arguing and childish tactics (which, even the Professor found himself stooping to, but rarely so, he'd sustain, as he'd only purposefully left all his research materials out on the bed once, knowing full good and well that she'd explode in anger over dusty book germs). Layton had taken to making extra tea in the evening, leaving it in the refrigerator for Laura to enjoy cold. She'd make desserts for Luke and Flora, and would sneak some into a packed lunch (which, she also prepared for the Professor), even though he would protest that sweets were not adult-like; he'd always have some compliment on the treats upon his return home, showing that he'd eaten them after all.

Laura had even started trimming his hair along with Luke's in an effort to save on monthly barber costs. For Luke, it was like a sort of bonding experience, and he'd share many stories with his newfound confidant as she skillfully kept the hair off his ears and prevented it from traveling down the back of his neck with a few simple clips.

"A boy bred to be a gentleman musn't ever appear ragged and disheveled," she would affirm seriously. "You'll look like a sloppy poor homeless boy with no etiquette."

Luke soon took most of Laura's 'suggestions' to be subtle demands for excellence, unlike the Professor's polite prodding for growth. The boy wasn't sure which he preferred to receive personally, but he did notice the job getting done much more quickly when Laura was the one dictating and flashing a stern glance. He was never frightened, only pressured more intensely to present himself well. But when he failed, she was no less nurturing than the Professor, which he _was_ thankful for; she could have been a real snob about it, but she always encouraged to 'do better next time.' A stern smile, a raised finger, then a tight hug.

For the Professor, haircuts felt like something more intimate, as he knew she hated hair altogether, yet gingerly made sure each strand was snipped and in its place. He would never admit it, but he hoped she didn't notice his goosebumps each time she'd brush her fingers over his skin, through his hair, the brief and gentle sensation creating a flurry of feelings each time. As she carefully studied his hair line along the top of his forehead, watchful of the scissors' blades against his skin, Professor Layton would stare into her face quietly, reading every fleeting smile that would suddenly flash as she made a good cut, getting lost in her eyes as they darted from side to side as she judged the evenness of her work on each side of his skull.

A twinge in his stomach, one he hadn't encountered for a while. He kept his opinions to himself, but he wished for his hair to get 'much too long,' much more often.

On Laura's end, she struggled every day to keep her feelings neutral and steady. If she wasn't happy and easy-going, she'd be anxious and would have to stabilize herself, perhaps after an argument with the Professor. She wasn't quite sure what was responsible for her erratic moods, but figured it was mostly her discomfort at seeing him every day when she'd had a huge break in communication. She couldn't help finding him annoying on many days, but even on days when he wasn't…she had to shake off his smile, fearing that she'd eventually grow to feel something else…

Something dangerous. The 'scary feeling'.

"Laura?"

She'd been dazing, staring at the spoon sitting in Layton's tea cup. She blinked several times, startled, a dippy grin plastered just below her cheeks. "Oh, sorry. Were you speaking?"

"I had been, yes… And I'd asked you what you thought about Luke and Flora not coming along?"

"Oh, I…I suppose that's fine, they aren't in my care, so… Rosa's going to watch them for you, as long as you need?"

"I just don't want to put them in danger, and rushing off to America doesn't sound very responsible. Europe's so contained, America just seems so…wide."

"You shouldn't talk about people that way!" she chuckled, draining her cup in one last sputtery gulp.

"I…wasn't…"

"Very well. Anyway," she pulled out a several times folded-up piece of paper, opening it wide and pressing it down flat and pointing to thin lines of words as she spoke, "we have a 7:30 AM flight, will land in Washington D.C., and then we'll transfer to another flight, which will take us further south. We'll get off the plane, find a taxi, and make our way to Stabilnon. I did some research…" She hurriedly whisked the transportation itinerary away, replacing it with another badly folded paper, a print-off from an internet search. "Stabilnon isn't a very well-known location. That, or it's just not popular enough to garner much information on the internet. I searched books, I searched articles, nothing. I at least got this from the computer. Says there's a population of 1,250, and three little 'suburbs'—if you could call them that, given Stabilnon isn't even a big city!—make up around 1,000 more people. So, it's a small place, really."

Layton looked at her oddly over his own cup, eyebrows pursed together, his forehead wrinkling. "Such a small, strange, and cloistered place, yet Leopold wants to drill there, hmm? Sounds out of the ordinary."

"A diamond in the rough, I guess. The city nearby doesn't really matter, I doubt he even knows an inkling about the place. But, supposedly, there's an immense amount of oil out in the ocean. He wants it, so… I have to do my job. But, this place sounds so lovely, a quaint little village." She smiled broadly as she talked, using her hands as involuntary puppets as she expanded and retracted the gap between them, showing how thrilled she was to be going. She'd clench her fists, shake them slightly, rest them on the table, before again starting the whole thing over. "I'm quite excited to go, if you'll believe it. I love little villages, charming little towns. London is too big, _too_ big. I'm tired of it. I don't want to hear so much as a car going by, I'm so tired of smog and soot and…_people_. Everywhere people."

Layton's face was struck with genuine amusement, a low laugh escaping his partially open lips. "I don't think I've seen you this excited in ages. Since that concert I took you to, maybe. You rarely show this side…"

"I've always wanted to go to America. It's got a charm all on its own. Maybe not its people, but… We'll see if the rumors are true."

A short and sullen waiter came to take their dishes away, small round plates filled with bread crumbs and small dabs of mustard, tea cups with dark, cold dregs swirling around the curved bottoms. Layton paid the bill while Laura sat in silence, her grin still intact. She couldn't contain her excitement, she didn't care if it was bothersome. She rather hoped it was infectious. The investigation took a backseat, the thrill of aeroplanes and villagers and American accents and hamburgers filling her mind.

"Ready to head out?" the Professor said. Laura nodded and followed him through the café's door.

Once back on the streets, they strolled past the many store fronts, decked in holiday trimmings and plain-faced manikins that showcased the season's most flashy garb for Christmas. Layton looked over at Laura, stuffing his scarf in his shirt in front of his neck. "So, we'll be in America for Christmas?"

"And New Year's, so it seems."

"I'll have to give Luke and Flora their presents early then." He raised his eyebrows, then looked straight ahead again. Laura shrugged, wondering if she should get them anything as well, but thought no more of it.

They arrived back at the University, Layton nervously trying to ask something, but unable to spit it out, Laura could tell.

"So…what exactly are you…well, do you need a ride back?"

She laughed. "I know you don't want me here, so I'll just call a cab."

"That's—! That's not it at all, it's just that I get a little…self-conscious if someone hangs about my office while I finish up my work, so…"

"You just don't want to deal with me anymore than you _have_ to, Hershel. A cab works for me. I'll be seeing you later then, fully clothed, I hope…"

"No, that's not the case, I—it's just, well…" He rolled his eyes as his cheeks burned with a deeper pink than the brisk wind had already coaxed out of them. "When you're around, we end up talking away the day, so I can't risk my work going unfinished, you understand? I have only two days, classes end tomorrow, I have grades to put in, and—"

Laura interrupted with a bitter laugh. "You're funny."

"I…beg your pardon? What's so funny about it?"

"You just are…predictable. Funny, funny, funny."

"I—now, what's so predicta—"

"Look at how nervous you are! Flustered, even! You can't even talk to me in public anymore! It's hilarious. Yeah, yeah, I understand that expression, I'm going, I'm going!"

She scampered off towards the curb, giggling madly as he yelled something inaudible after her. Once she was out of sight, the Professor huffed and turned back towards his destination, feeling exactly as she described: nervous and flustered, even more so at how astute she was at picking up and describing his demeanor.

The large, looming building ahead of him was Main Hall, a centre of small eateries and shops for the students to use without having to venture far off of campus. Not that they were encouraged to stay _on_ campus; the city yearned for business, and was more than willing to cater to college students' needs off-campus. But it worked for those students who didn't like to slop around in the slush and the chilling temperatures, so at the time, it was bustling, to Layton's chagrin.

He pulled his scarf out of his shirt and coat, loosening its grip around his neck. He removed his gloves and shook from them the trace snowflakes that had managed to cling to and melt on the brown fabric. Next followed his hat, which he removed and cleaned off hastily. Hat back on, gloves in pockets, scarf hanging loosely around his neck like a limp towel, he continued down the shiny tiled path, bright yellow _Caution!_ signs placed everywhere to warn of the slippery surface. The signs' little graphic of a nameless, faceless person in mid-fall, almost breaking his back, made the Professor smile a little, his sadism getting the better of him, if only briefly.

Ambling about, avoiding heavy flocks of students, he came across a little gift shop. It was packed with rowdy students, clambering to snag last minute gifts to give to their families, friends, lovers, maybe enemies (there were some rather lewd gag gifts available, which Layton ignored with slight annoyance). A bright, whimsical card caught his eye and he grabbed it from the tiered card shelf.

"Ah, Luke would love this. Sparkling snow, little winter animals on the front—"

"Hershel, darling!"

Professor Layton jumped and almost dropped the card, barely recapturing it as it fluttered out of his hands. The voice was too close for comfort, the feminine drawl grating against his eardrums.

'_I wish I didn't know that voice_.'

"Caroline, what a pleasant surprise!" he forced himself to say, his fright none too subtle.

A woman with a perpetually condescending sneer rushed up closer to his side. Past the blatant candy apple lipstick and midnight black eyeshadow, she had sarcastic and shrewd etched deeply into her face, even deeper into her eyes. Her snow-white cashmere coat and matching scarf and ear muffs spoke even louder, a mating call to all company presidents and CEO's—anyone wealthy would do—within a 5 meter radius. She clutched onto a small handbag with one black-leathered hand, extending her other one to adjust the Professor's hat as she saw fit.

"Still sporting this little number? What a catch you are! I hear you were drowning in presents this holiday. Dean Delmona wasn't too quiet about it, he thought it was rather humorous. The stories we share over in psychology…you should join us sometime."

"I… Well, lately I've been out working on excavations, but whenever the occasion arises, I could—"

"And how are _you_ doing?" she said with harsh emphasis, eyeing him carefully. Layton blinked.

"Well, I'm as swamped as ever, of course, but—"

"Your social life? You _do_ have a _social_ life, don't you, Hershel?"

"Well, I—"

"A _girlfriend_?"

"Good heavens, I—"

"Are you keeping up with…_old friends_?"

He caught on to her mediocre attempt to be subtle, her agenda too transparently displayed in her barefaced questioning. He sighed softly, exhaling slowly as he regained composure.

It had happened before, the interrogations. The deliberate stabs to his conduct, the attempts to put him on trial, the unrestrained questioning of his character and whether or not it had been breached. He often stood in silence in his office, all those years ago, wondering if he'd fallen foul, violated some unwritten rule. That's how she made him feel.

Caroline Thurman-Warner. A thrice wedded, constantly 'bedded', unforeseen thorn that had risen to headmaster status within a week's decision-making from the Board of Trustees. Headmaster of Grissom's, the next in line after the startling murder of Headmaster Ginlade, ten years ago. Nothing close to the jolly presence of the former headmaster, instead, Headmaster Thurman-Warner (as she demanded to be called) would troll the corridors, striking up conversations with the richest, building friendships with the most prominent, catering to any who would help her erect an empire fit for the most powerful of her female students, and only the most powerful (needless to say, she was a proponent of social 'natural selection').

From day one, her little birds would fly, preying on their fellows, bringing back rumors in an attempt to disrupt any notions of unrest within the student ranks. She would stamp out any 'problems', what her chosen few would see some situations and people as. The gossip was her sustenance, and those young women that found their newest Headmaster to be an inspiration enabled her gluttony.

Her first order of business: the young upstart archaeologist and his classroom _pet_.

The Professor now—even while eyeing her down in a college gift shop, holding a children's Christmas card—perfectly recalled his first run-in with the new Headmaster. He gave her the benefit of a doubt, his gentlemanly conduct overriding any reservations he normally would have had, given her standoffish appearance. It was a particularly stuffy day at the end of March, the heater in the conference room pushing out more hot air than a seasoned charlatan.

"I'd like to introduce our new headmaster, Professor Caroline Thurman-Warner from the psychology department," said a stout and jumpy professor with jumpy hair to match. It curled and extended from his scalp like a set of loose coils, only the color of baking soda. Layton wondered if it (his personality, not the hair) was because he was from chemistry, and he'd been blown up on several occasions due to the less-adept of his chemistry students. Although, maybe the hair had the same cause…

Enough about the hair. The new Headmaster strode to the front of the conference room, smiling and waving, shaking hands, the customary charade of kindness mixed with pomposity that most superiors tended to possess. She spoke a few words, and that was that. Nothing too over the top.

And then came the trap for her prey. Shortly afterwards, she had requested 'personal meetings' with those of the faculty she hadn't yet met, Professor Layton being one of them. Professor Layton being the _only_ one of them.

He had come into her office, knocking before entering, as any gentleman would argue is the proper way to enter a room (especially a lady's).

"Ah, Professor Hershel Layton!" The Headmaster stood behind the large oak desk. She extended an arm, waiting a few seconds until Layton had closed the door behind him and made his way across the room. He took her hand in his, smiled, and greeted her as was common custom.

"The pleasure is all mine, Headmaster." He sat after shaking her hand gently.

"Let's not be stuffy snoots, Hershel, darling. Please. Caroline is just fine." She sat as well, her hands energetically flying about as she talked. "We're both adults, academics here! First names will do, don't you think?"

"As you wish, Caroline. I hope you are well, and are fitting into the fabric of this fine college with relative ease?"

"Quite. And, yourself? I read that you're an assistant professor of archaeology, a visiting professor from Gressenheller?" She pulled a few papers out of a cream-colored file folder, his name scrawled on the top tab. The Professor wondered if all members of the faculty had a folder, just for them. "You must be quite the expert, coming from such a reputable university!"

"You flatter me, Caroline. I merely love my work, and put in as much effort as I can."

"And I see you'll be a full-time professor this fall, a major component of the archaeology department! And so young! Go you!" She grinned as she pumped both fists forward a bit, her elbows resting on the arms of her wooden chair. If Layton didn't know any better, he may have thought she was genuinely happy for him. But her eyes spoke of something more. They said no words, but showed something other than enthusiasm, a secret agenda.

"Indeed, that is the plan," he said quietly, folding his hands in his lap. He felt this was about something more than getting to know one another, and was becoming impatient and worried about what the purpose really was.

"And….you're a puzzle connoisseur. How cute." She folded her hands in her lap, smiling a sickeningly sweet smile. "Here, have a go at this one. I just heard it the other day from one of my students, who seems to enjoy throwing me through a loop here and there with riddles."

It seemed he had no choice. "As you wish, I'll see if I can solve it."

"Okay, it goes like this:

_Scarlet stream_

_Steel your mettle!_

_You'll need some grit_

_To smell my petal._

_What am I?_"

She blinked, then stared at him for a moment. The Professor cleared his throat and looked at his hands, massaging them as he thought.

"Hmm…seems to be a flower…"

"You're on the right track!" she giggled, amused. He really didn't like being helped along, but who was he to refuse the Headmaster's hinting?

"I'm going to say…a rose."

"And right you are!" she said loudly with a clap. "What gave it away?"

"Steeling one's mettle, the need for grit. I would say that the flower sounds a bit dangerous, if the one enjoying the scent needs courage. Plus, with a 'scarlet stream,' which hints at blood, that means the flower is capable of injury. Such a common flower exists, as we all know that roses carry thorns. Therefore, the obvious choice is a rose." He grinned with satisfaction, not bothering to hide it.

"Look out, world. We have quite the detective on our hands!" Her lips curled upward at the corners, much like a snake, but more sinister. "Yes, indeed a rose. Such beauty, yet lined with thorns. A lot like…_love_." Her voice made the Professor's insides curdle and writhe uncomfortably. "Enough of the games, you're too good. On to more important things, now that we've broken the ice. Tell me, how is your classroom? Your students. Do you enjoy your students?"

"They are a good bunch. Some smarter than others, but they all try with verve." He instantly thought of Laura and had to suppress a smile. He'd rather have a meeting with her than with this 'Headmaster'.

Caroline eyed him calculatingly. "Any in particular?"

"No, madam, they are rather evenly matched with one another in that regard, if I may say so. Good workers, all of them, and rarely any complaints, on their part, and mine."

She smiled cynically, her tone becoming boorish. "You know, it's rather funny that you say that, because I have been hearing differently, dear Hershel."

Her smile faded instantly, replaced by a taut grimace. Unblinking, her eyes drilled into his, trying to dig up any guilt that may be riddling his mind. The Professor's stomach dropped. His muscles tensed, his hands felt clammy. She was on to something and she was determined to put that _something_ into jeopardy. Had it been months earlier, he'd have nothing to feel responsible for, but now… He tried his absolute best to hide his emotions. What did he have to feel guilty for? She hadn't mentioned anything specific.

"I…don't know what you mean. My students are as I have told you, my class is just fine."

"No, no, Hershel, I believe you misunderstand. It's not as if your class as a _whole_ isn't functioning well. It seems to be well-oiled for the most part. Except, for one." She leaned forward, her long nailed fingers delicately gripping the ends of the chair arms. She clicked the nails against the wood-grain, her fingers moving like a wave, over and over. "I've been getting several…complaints, I suppose you could call them—comments? No, more like complaints—anyway, I've already been getting complaints about a relationship between you and one of your students."

'_I'm going to have to lie, even if it goes against my code_,' the Professor admitted silently and reluctantly.

"I'm afraid I do misunderstand, Headmaster. I treat all of my students equally. They all have the same opportunities, the same—"

"Please," she interrupted, a trace of irritation riding her voice. "_Caroline_, Hershel. Hershel, do you _tutor_ a student after class?"

"Indeed, I do."

"On what premise?"

"That she requires extra instruction on the lessons until her grades improve," he said determinedly. "She has struggled with archaeology and history, and I teach her further after class to help her conceptualize the material in a different way than what is presented during lecture."

The Headmaster merely stared into him, expressionless. "This occurs daily?"

"Only after classes, which are on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of each week, unless I need to reschedule or cancel a course, then of course, it could be a Tuesday, Thursday…"

"I am informed that this student, Laura Haris, is quite the little prodigy. A recipient of a prestigious scholarship, and, quite amazingly enough, a certified genius with quite the list of talents and academic gifts. Surely, such a student wouldn't require _remedial_ lessons so often?"

"I see you've done your homework," Layton responded with restrained derision. His smile never faltered, although his mind was furious, his patience burning away quickly.

"Any good headmaster would," she said, a crafty smile twitching at the ends of her mouth.

"Laura is indeed a gifted individual with a passion for mathematics and science, specifically, engineering. However, her skill set in other areas, such as in history and archaeology—my fields of expertise—are deficient, for the lack of a kinder word. Therefore, I suggested instruction outside of class, which she has been attending diligently, and—"

"And her grades have improved?"

He had no come-back, for indeed, they hadn't risen all that much. To his dismay, Laura still struggled to care about the course, even after discussing the material at great lengths in his office, or elsewhere.

'_She's just not good with tests…and she's lazy when it comes to subjects she despises…_'

"Not as much as we would have hoped," he replied bitterly, the words caustic on his tongue. "Her talents rest elsewhere in the wide world."

"I see." She cleared her throat, looking at him more sharply. "Hershel, I don't have the time nor the patience to quibble over things that are more than apparent to me, and those around _you_. It has been confided in me that you two share a bond stronger than that of a respectable teacher-student relationship, stronger even than that of a teacher, and a teacher's pet. Now, as we're both educators, don't think that I don't understand that we all have our favorites, despite how hard we try to be fair, impartial. I understand that. But…" She crossed her legs and sat up at full height. "I have reason to believe that the 'teacher's pet' is more of a 'teacher's companion'."

The shorter the better, Layton decided. "I do not see our relationship as you describe, Headmaster."

She didn't correct him about her name this time. She merely glared at him, hoping it'd make him break, spilling the truth through the crooked cracks. She knew who she was playing with, and was determined to crush the opposition.

"I have reason to believe otherwise, _Professor_. You might want to recall certain events where you perhaps enjoyed leisure time with Miss Haris? Times in London, around downtown? The HEFF conference? Venues as intimate as your own home? You don't recall anyone joining you? Ever? You're going to deny these examples?"

"If you are referring to the _one_ time I was at the HEFF conference and accompanied Miss Haris, then I will say that you are correct. We both had awards to accept, so it only seemed logical to drive her there, since we live in the same neighborhood. I was there, as were several other professors, even the former Headmaster himself—God rest his soul—in order to support and cheer on our most talented students. I don't find anything outlandish about that."

"Being seen about London with a student _is_ outlandish. You have no recollection of that, now?"

"I have had tea with Miss Haris on occasion, yes. I had been driving her to engineering classes at the University, as I had to be there anyway, and I was saving her parents the extra driving. I treated her to afternoon tea a handful of times, merely as a method of conversation and study. You could say that I was 'killing two birds with one stone', as tea is an afternoon staple of mine, and I might as well have conducted a study session while I was on break. This is not anything strange, as I know that the psychology department hosts weekly tea time with professors and students in order to establish a comfortable and inviting setting in which to communicate."

Headmaster Thurman-Warner growled, thoroughly defeated, yet unwilling to lay down. "It wasn't only _tea_! You were at a _restaurant_! An expensive _restaurant_, with Laura Haris!"

"A restaurant? And what restaurant would that be?" he asked, quietly amused with the woman's frustration, though he was loath to admit it.

"_Does 'Regia' ring any bells under that hat_?"

"_Regia…? _Ah! Oh, how funny, you are then referring to my old friend and classmate, Miss Greta Wienhoft. I had forgotten I went to that establishment, I'd rather forget that bill… I suppose I _could_ see how you could get Miss Haris and Miss Wienhoft confused, they are quite similar in appearance. You should have said something, Headmaster, if you were there! I'm rather surprised you didn't come to my table to say something." The Headmaster said nothing now, but her face was as red as a vine-ripened tomato. "However, Miss Wienhoft is getting up there in age, if I may say so. She's around my age, so—"

Surprisingly, the Headmaster laughed. She chuckled first, then coughed, her chortling becoming a shrill cackle. "Oh, my, Hershel. Well, it seems we're both mistaken then? I find it very hard to believe, but this is going nowhere fast. Here's the thing. You mention a departmental tea setting between professors and students. _Professors. Students._ Plural. A group setting, not a tête-à-tête. Now, let's see you finagle out of this one. How about your house, Hershel? I've had it brought to my attention that Laura Haris was seen leaving your house on many an occasion."

The Professor feigned emotional injury. "I'm not trying to finagle out of anything, Headmaster. I'm merely giving you the factual truth. I had informed my class I'd be having group study sessions, and they would take place a few blocks from campus at my own home. I made dinner, tea, and some light refreshments, and invited them to come study for the end of the semester finals. The class as a whole was invited."

The Headmaster curled her lips into a hideous grimace, as if to say 'Checkmate'.

"Yet only Laura came."

"I feel as if there's unfair blame being placed on me. If that were the case, that only Miss Haris came, how could you prove it, unless another student really _was_ present in order to confirm those in attendance? I'm curious as to whom you get your information from, Caroline. The person isn't very accurate, I must say…"

'_Touch__é_,' he blurted out, if only mindfully.

Caroline fumed behind the wreckage of her formally triumphant smile, now a mottled attempt at a friendly grin. "Look here, _Layton_. I don't know who you think that you're trying to evade, but you won't be evading _me_. I _know_ you're up to something. You have your comebacks, but you're a schemer. I'd watch your steps if I were you. If you so much as _think_ about flirting with one of your students, namely Laura Haris, I _will_ know about it. Cut ties and severe any current romantic relationships you have now. I'll give you a chance. Either that, or you'll be facing a _forced _early resignation, or a blatant dismissal from the college. I don't care about your feelings. You're still a young, erratic-minded, impudent fool, and these girls don't need your charm gumming up the works. They need supportive instructors, not ones that will encourage a brief game of _hide the bloody sausage_."

The Professor, thoroughly surprised at the strange turn of events (too _personal_ of a meeting, he decided), rearranged his hat and smiled despite the accusations and crude language.

"I assure you, Headmaster, that there hasn't been, nor will there be, anything done that will make you question or suspect a thing. If I may excuse myself, I have a departmental meeting in five minutes…"

She waved him off, grunting. "A good day to you."

"And to you, Headmaster Thurman-Warner."

He half-expected the correction of her name again, but the other half of him knew she was furious, unable to stick him with anything stigmatizing. She wanted him gone, and wanted silence, lest he wrench his name out of trouble again.

Her words and in-depth knowledge still struck a sickening fear and realization into his mind and heart: that suffering and _causing_ suffering to make such a thing work—something more than infatuation—his relationship with Laura, might not be worth it in the end. Somehow, people knew. People suspected. He figured it was the gossip and harsh rumors of fellow students, even those in his class. For a brief moment, he cursed them, then felt sorry.

'_I don't know what's best for Laura…for me…_'

Ten years later, the words still chimed and rang inside his tired brain.

"Hello? Did you hear me?" came the voice of the insufferable Caroline Thurman-Warner, still as harsh as ever.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. My wits are near their end, this last week of school. Old friends? Yes, I still keep up with many of them."

"I see. You always were a crafty one, Hershel." She looked at him with feigned interest, then shook her head. "Well, it was lovely seeing you, even in a cramped little hovel like this!" She flippantly referred to the store with a stiff wave of her hand. "Stay clear of trouble, will you? Those around you know more than you think."

With a little giggle, she had turned and walked away, scurrying to a group of obnoxious girls who recognized her as their first-year psychology professor.

Thankful for the reprieve, Professor Layton hurriedly bought the sparkling card and left, his stomach in a tight knot. He recalled more than he had wanted, remembered more than he'd bargained for. The woman had dug up so much emotion, if only with her inadvertent ability to claw at people's consciences. The memories were one thing, the scathing words another. Had he done the right thing, letting Laura go? Should he have been braver, refusing to take Caroline's words to heart, confiding in Laura to conquer his fear?

'_I said some things…but what about my actions? Where did I stand_?

'_Or…where did I _fail_ to stand…_?'

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**What a bore. Review. :]**


	31. CHAPTER 31: AN UNSETTLING DISCOVERY

**And...hello again! I apologize for my absence! But between full-time work and helping with my huge family, many of whom have annoying high-maintenance diseases...I have no time. Adding to the stress, I've been having trouble with my intestines for the past 2 months and my energy has been zapped, which for me is a HUGE set-back, because I typically have a ton of energy. I'm a powerhouse, so to put me down...this is major. Going to the gastroenterologist now, and hopefully will find something out soon. I haven't ate normal in weeks, and when I force myself to eat, it's not without consequences...both painful and embarrassing, at times. Nee****dless to say, I haven't done a lot for myself lately, including writing. :[**

**This chapter isn't particularly chock full of new developments, but there is ONE little tidbit...and a change of emotion. I hope I conveyed that. We're going to have a bit of a break away from everyday London, but there will still be little hints to the mystery...if it's a mystery. I dunno, I'm feeling my writing and story have tanked. HAHA.**

**Anyway, without further ado...**

**Actually spending money on myself (3DS),  
Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 31: A****N ****UNSETTLING DISCOVERY**

"I won't hear another _word_ about it, you two."

Luke gave the Professor a daring glare, Flora delivering a similar expression, but with more grace. The news that they wouldn't be accompanying the Professor and Laura to the United States was not taken well. One might think it wasn't taken at _all_, the way the children looked.

"But I thought we were a team, Professor!" Luke whined. It was more a bit of guilt-inducing persuasion rather than a disappointed rebuttal. The boy wasn't going to let his mentor off easily, and surely not without feeling bad about it. "It's not a _team_ when _you_ get to go, and leave us here alone!"

"You won't be alone," the Professor struggled to say as the children pummeled him with more persuasive rhetoric. "Rosa will be here with you…"

"But what if Rosa falls asleep?"

"Yes, she falls asleep during the day!" Flora shot out triumphantly. That would be the point that'd make the Professor break, she thought. "What if we aren't being watched?"

"We might do something _terrible_." The boy crossed his arms, resolute to get his way, determined to go. "We have to come."

Sighing, the Professor lugged his suitcase to the front door. He gave them a dry look, unable to be persuaded. He understood their feelings, but couldn't help them. The situation didn't allow for it.

"No. And I know you'll do just fine with Rosa. Don't try to make me think for a moment that you'll cause her trouble. I know you better. _Both_ of you."

Flora found it hopeless, and sorrowfully made her way to the bathroom to wash up for the evening as the Professor turned back towards his luggage and went over his checklist. Luke didn't move, and instead stared at him, his angry eyes boring holes into the Professor's brown jacket. It might have worked if he tried hard enough.

Then, his expression softened, understanding somehow sweeping over him.

"Professor, I understand why we can't go."

Layton turned around, a surprised grin stretched across his face. "Do you?"

"It's not safe, venturing out into the world like that. I understand. It's safer here, in London. Especially for Flora. I'm glad you were thinking of Flora and me. I…well, I wasn't. I was thinking of what I _wanted_ to do, not of what is best. I'm…I'm sorry, Professor. I failed." His voice trailed off into a strained whimper. "I try to be a gentleman, but it's just too hard. There're things I want to do, I want to go and help too!" He tried to hide his tears as he stared at the carpet. He sensed the Professor kneel down in front of him on one knee, but he refused to look at him, even when the man's hand rested heavily on his small shoulder.

"Luke, no. You're just being a normal, young boy. It's only natural to want to go on new adventures. It means you're curious, and I'm actually very sorry that I can't take you. It's not that I don't _want_ to take you. It's that I, well, I just _can't_." He put a hand on one of the boy's shoulders. "Luke, my boy. Some day, I'll take you to America and let you see it for fun, all in fun. This isn't going to be a trip for sights and thrills. It's for necessity, for work. And it could very well be dangerous—as a matter of fact, I know it is."

"How do you know?" the boy asked, an air of surprise lacing his voice.

"I've come across some new developments, and I just don't know what to expect. But this trip isn't for fun; it's all for—"

"—for the investigation," Luke finished, sighing miserably.

"…yes. It's not very exciting, you aren't missing out."

"But I like helping!"

"And you will. From London." He handed Luke a small treat from his pocket. It was one of Carbite's snacks, a piece of dried fruit. "I want you to do a bit of light espionage that I know suits you perfectly. Laura said you can take care of her feathered friends over at Petrolite. She says Carbite's taken a real liking to you." He looked over at the couch where the toucan had buried itself between throw pillows and underneath Luke's hat. Its large, colored beak poked out from under the cap like a psychedelic crescent-moon from behind a cloud.

The boy smiled, affection welling up inside of him. "I do love animals…"

"Laura'll give you a key to the court yard with the cages, you can enter from the back store room. No one will know you are there. You can take the bus a few times a week, it's not too far from here, and it's safe enough, but if you take Flora you _must _keep an eye out for each other. Additionally, you'll be keeping tabs on our friend Leopold from there."

"But…how?"

At that moment, Laura walked through the living room in a robe and a white towel over her head, her hair still damp from a shower. Her smirk declared she'd been listening, and had something to add to the conversation. "I've installed a little camera center in there for you!" she said gleefully. "You'll have live feed from all cameras in the company building. It originally had feed from cameras set up around the birds' cages. Rare birds are a target for thieves, you know. But, since the care of the birds has declined, so has care of security footage. It wasn't hard to switch live streaming of the cages to footage of the building interior instead, since the equipment was already set up. You just see what Leopold is doing, and we can talk about it daily when we call from the States. How about that?"

Luke smiled radiantly, his cheeks turning red with excitement. "It's the best job there is! I'll take good care of your birds, Laura! And the spying, well, I can do it, no problem! After all, I'm the best assistant there is! Number one!"

Laughing softly, Laura gave the boy the thumbs-up. "Right you are, right you are. Just don't overfeed the little fatties. Carbite's gained a bit of weight…" She walked into the master bedroom, closing the door behind her.

The Professor chuckled and turned back to his luggage, making sure he had everything before waking up early the next morning. That was all he needed: to forget something important, half a world away, he thought to himself sarcastically.

He had forgotten about the boy still behind him, now staring at the floor, then hesitantly back up at the Professor.

"Professor?" Luke asked stiffly. He ground the heel of his sock into the carpet, then switched to his toes.

"What is it, my boy?"

A pause. Layton almost turned around to see why the boy had stopped when he spoke again.

"You like Laura, don't you?"

Layton froze, the list in his hand becoming rigid, unmoving. "W…What do you mean, Luke?" He immediately felt that he had misinterpreted the question, and was being a bit overdramatic. It was an innocent question, simply asked…wasn't it?

"I mean…you like her, right?"

"She's an old student and an old friend. She treats you well, she's a hard worker. Yes, she has very likeable qualities. I assume that you and Flora feel the same." He turned to the boy and gave a rigid grimace that matched his grip on his packing list, attempting to hide his tension. He had to phrase his words carefully, and thanked a higher power that the words came easily. The vagueness of the question…it annoyed him more than trying to drum up an answer.

"Well, yes. I love Laura," Luke said without thought. His answer was innocent and pure. She was like a sister to him, a supportive helper, a loyal friend, a surrogate mother for the time being. "But...it's not the same for _you_, is it? It's a bit different, like…well, you know...it's like…well…"

Professor Layton fell silent, a bit aghast at the boy's audacity. But it wasn't the child's fault. He wanted an answer, but the man couldn't provide one. Layton didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to feel. "Hmm. I suppose I'm not sure what you mean, Luke. I—"

"You don't have to say any more, Professor," Luke chimed in, smiling with a new enthusiasm. "You'll figure it out sometime. Maybe I'm wrong. But it just seems like…well, you work well with Laura. You have good conversations, you build off each other's ideas. I've thought this for a while, but she's like…your missing puzzle piece! Ha ha!" The boy smiled so wide, his cheeks flooded into his eyes, squinching them shut. He bounded off without another word, and moments later could be heard talking silently to Flora in the hallway.

The Professor breathed in sharply, staring into the space where Luke had just stood. His throat was dry, its sides cleaving together. His mind felt numb, lost in a daze. His focus lost, he saw nothing but swirling maroon carpet, cream walls, and the dim lights, mixing into one point as he gaped, unable to move. Had Luke just spoken to him? Had he just been lectured by an adolescent, told something that even _he_ couldn't figure out on his own? Did the boy's innocence, unadulterated pure innocence, help him to see things—simple things—that the Professor's educated mind _couldn't_? Was it really so complex because of the paradoxical fact that it was so…so _simple_, the answer staring at him in the face? His skeptical mind was unwilling to take in an easy truth. Something as easy and natural as _admitting_ a feeling.

He suddenly felt very stupid and ashamed, two things that didn't come without damage of his ego.

Laura walked back into the living room, clothed in a pair of thin mint green pajama pants and matching long-sleeved shirt. It appeared two sizes too large. She glanced at Layton curiously as he was standing and looking at nothing but thin air.

"Hershel?"

He shuddered awake from his reverie, back to sense. "Yes?" he said airily, as if from far away. His eyes looked sad and lost.

"Are you…okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

"Oh, no, I just…"

"Are you finished packing? You should get some sleep. You look strange."

"Oh. Yes. I should—"

"But then again, you always look strange…"

"I—what?!" Her giggling was still as off-putting as always, and he responded with a cough and a series of blinks. He sat the paper list on top of his suitcase and rubbed his forehead; his thumb throbbed. He didn't realize he'd been handling the paper with a death grip. His brow was tense, his mind was fumbling for clarity. He didn't have time for this. It had to wait, this…whatever this feeling was. As he always told himself…

'_Priorities…priorities…_'

"Huh, if you're well," she interrupted gruffly, "I'll just let you be. Don't be acting like a mental patient. Good night."

"Laura, wait!" Then, he shook his head violently, remembering something. "No, there was something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Hmm?" She glanced at him awkwardly, her stomach sinking. "If it's not about the investigation, then I—"

"I have something to show you." He insisted that she listen closely instead of looking at him like some sort of freakish zoo spectacle. "Dean Delmona brought this to my attention, though I'd heard a rumor earlier in the week." He grabbed a newspaper from his mess of a pile and waved her over to join him. She walked over cautiously as he flipped through the pages. "Ah, here it is."

His finger stabbed into a short article, sized more like a blurb. It was within the depths of the newspaper, hidden between larger, more prominent articles. Laura looked over his arm at the little black words, the title above the little square attempting to shout louder than its neighbors (to not much avail; if the reader didn't have a good eye, they would have skimmed over the article completely). It read: '_Famous Archeologist, Found Dead in Home_'.

Laura knit her eyebrows together, confused.

"Found dead?"

Layton nodded. "Indeed. It reads, '_Earl Chrispin, a renowned archaeologist who helped discover and unearth an ancient port city off of the Irish coast in 2001—buried under layers of rock and debris from centuries past—had been found dead in his home in Dublin. He was 67. An investigation is being conducted. Toxicology reports will take several weeks until results are acquired. The authorities suspect no foul play at this time._'"'

The Professor sighed, and turned towards Laura, who had remained quietly contemplative. "Earl was an acquaintance of mine. I didn't know him exceedingly well, but well enough to know that this is surprising and strange. He wasn't ill, and was in seemingly good physical and mental health."

"Well, sometimes things come up on a person, and at 67…well, he's not necessarily in his prime, Hershel."

"I suppose not… But the fact remains that it's surprising. And look at this." He skimmed through further pages, turning the paper towards her. A picture in the obituaries stood out, ominous although silent in its black and white world.

Laura gasped.

"It's…that's _Arthur Thackman_! We just spoke with him…not _that_ long ago! Mere months ago." She pulled the page closer, the thin material crinkling in her quivering grip. "No details. '_Died at home_.' I'm sorry, but that always sounds suspicious. Yes, just like the other man, the archaeologist…found dead at home."

"It's the go-to answer when something awry has gone on," the Professor noted. "Suicide, criminal activity. Or, perhaps the family just didn't want to give out information in case there were prying eyes."

"Maybe, but this is Arthur Thackman. Surely, we should have heard of _something_ other than…this sorry excuse for an obituary…" She scoffed. "He was a well-known archaeologist back in his day, and not too bad with engineering. He just…took another path. No mention of _anything_ archaeology, _nothing_. Just some simple sentences about his ex-wife and only son. Not even a funeral service? He was well-to-do, do you really think this small obituary is even justified?"

"Indeed, it is strange." He paused, looking at Laura's concerned expression. "What do you make of it?"

The girl paused, wondering if she should say anything. "Are they connected. Both of the deaths. That's my question. It's a stretch, but…that's all I want to know. Perhaps it's coincidence. I don't know, but…I have this feeling…"

"I must say, I agree. Seems your intuition is still spry." The girl couldn't help but smile at the praise, but Layton didn't seem to notice. His hand was to his chin, and he was thinking. "Stranger still, I was reading through news articles on the internet. Random news that makes it to the international scene," he continued.

Laura snorted. "You read things _online_?"

Cheeks flushed, he stammered for a bit, trying to find words. "I may be old-fashioned, but I'm not a complete stick in the mud," he said, puffing himself up indignantly. "I use it on occasion. Anyway, I found an article about some prominent families missing their caretakers. Read closer." He handed her a print out from his pocket, a folded up news article from a web source. She read it over quickly, her expression changing from bored to intrigued in a matter of seconds. She stared at the paper, gaping.

"Italian maids? Missing for over a month? It describes them as elderly. If I'd read this any other time, I'd not think another thing of it, but given the circumstances… You don't think—no, it's too coincidental, isn't it? But it's all at once, it makes one wonder—"

"I find it very odd that one of our recent correspondents is dead, and now, perhaps, are others—the maids, I'm referring to. Dean Delmona tells me that there are a couple of other archaeologists who recently have either gone missing, or have passed away; it's not only Earl. A couple of others died years ago, but a couple of older gentlemen passing away isn't anything to question, as morbid as that may sound. However, with this recent news… I don't find this to be coincidence."

Laura's eyes widened as she stared into the carpet, an epiphany lighting up her face. Then the color drained instantly, as if the revelation was as dreadful as it was enlightening. "It almost seems as if someone _wanted_ these people gone."

"That sentiment darkens my thoughts as well. As for the maids missing, I wouldn't find it out of the realm of possibility that they are affiliated with, or _are_, the maids that Luke, Flora, and I had spoken with while in Italy. I would almost put money on it. It's rather odd, but until we have facts, I can't say for certain. It's only a hunch."

Laura stood silent for a moment, watching the Professor take his chin in his hand. How was he so complacent? She crossed her arms and rubbed her biceps slowly at first, then more furiously, as if she'd caught a chill. She shuddered and appeared frightened, something Layton found unusual. He looked over at her and gave a puzzled look.

"Should we inform Scotland Yard? This may be bigger than we think," she whispered, looking up at him with frantic eyes. "Everyone we've spoken with recently…_they're dead_. That's a lot more than a coincidence or a hunch. Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten so ingrained in this, I shouldn't have gotten you involved after all. Now there's _death_. And people missing."

"Laura, what's happened could have happened regardless of our involvement. There's no sense in—"

"No, I think it's because we contacted them," she mumbled, barely above a whisper. Her voice was faint, afraid. It threatened to break off like a dead branch in a storm as she continued. "I think we…brought it upon them. It's because we started meddling. I feel it. I _know_ it. I can't prove it, but I just know."

"You never contacted Earl, Laura. He was found dead, and you never knew his name. Don't start blaming yourself." He wanted to comfort her by saying her intuition wasn't as sharp as his, but he knew this was both arrogant and false. He'd stick to the facts instead, he decided. "He never knew you."

"But he knew _you_. You knew him. And he's an archaeologist. Why archaeologists? Why are they all dying?"

"It means nothing at the moment. To assume is—"

"Assumption or not, my intuition is giving me a bad feeling about it!" she shouted, the branch holding on for another day. The color returned to her face as her anger rose. "Regardless, Hershel, what if it's _us_ next? What if it's Leopold, and he's planning my death as we speak?"

"Laura, we can't connect anything to Leopold at the moment, it's too soon—"

"Hershel. Here's the time line. I start suspecting Leopold, of _something_, and then we start investigating. And then those we contact all just _die_? Don't you tell _me_ 'too soon'. It's too soon for you to be going senile, that's what's '_too soon_'!"

The Professor looked at her, somewhat incredulously, somewhat sympathetically, and even somewhat believing in her words (with the exception of the ones claiming him senile…). Her attitude was no longer smug or confident; she didn't make snarky sarcastic comments, she wasn't angry for anger's sake. She was worried, paranoid. But Layton knew she could be right, and yet he wasn't about to let her know that. "Laura, are you frightened?" he asked calmly.

"I…" She paused, looking down the feeble, folded spine of the newspaper slowly, thinking things over. She had no actual proof about anything, any of the theories running through her mind. Her fear was irrational, unfounded, but she felt it still, ethereal yet tangible. "I don't know."

"You have no reason to be. It is what it is. As strange as it seems, it could still just be…well, coincidence. I'm not convinced it is, but don't fear something that isn't there, Laura."

"You're right…I'm sorry." She turned away from him, feeling something similar to embarrassment mixed with stupidity. Extreme stupidity. "I don't usually respond to things that aren't fact, but…"

"It brings grief to reap worry from sown assumptions," he advised softly, smiling thoughtfully at her. "There's nothing proven." She looked at him briefly, nodding. "We need proof now, not irrational feelings."

"I think I'll go to bed now," she muttered slowly, her eyes closing as she began to walk away. Her back was now to the Professor, and it made her feel all the more calm. She didn't want to talk anymore, wanting only the respite of a cool bed and blank sleep. "I'm…spent."

"Laura."

Laura turned instinctively, after all her name was called, why wouldn't she? And she was met with a tight embrace, the Professor's arms wrapped tightly around her. She felt her face turn hot, half with embarrassment, half with surprise, and perhaps (she felt that she could have _three_ halves, her feelings were so strong) half with wrath. Her eyes barely saw over his shoulder, her nose smashed into his arm. She couldn't help but breathe in his scent deeply, making her senses freeze. The white, cotton shirt reeked of that devil's mixture she'd come to hate to love: tea and some sort of fragrant wood. Perhaps pine, perhaps cedar. Regardless, it was peevish.

She was unsure what to say, how to respond. She hadn't been touched like that in a long time, squeezed so tightly. It was almost as if something eroded away inside, some sort of lock on her emotions. She quietly enjoyed it, finding it useless to oppose. Any arguments now would carry into their trip, and she couldn't afford that. So she justified her enjoyment with logic: accept it silently, evade an argument.

It only lasted a whole two seconds before Professor Layton spoke, and Laura reinforced her emotional battlements, mentally planting land mines.

"What the hell is this for?"

"I'm not much good for you, I know you feel that way. But I don't want you to feel scared and helpless. I won't let you feel that way again, I don't care what it takes."

"Again? I—"

"Whatever you need, I'll help see to it that you get it." He spoke so closely to her left ear that she shuddered, each sound wave cascading directly into her eardrum, reverberating continuously in her brain.

'_Again? Again? "I won't let you feel that way again?". Again. Again…._AGAIN.

'_It happened once, it'll happen again, no matter _what_ he says now._

_ 'Once a liar, always a liar. Farce. Farce. Farce. Fake, lies. LIES_. LIES.'

"Hershel, I—"

"The children adore you. I enjoy having your company around again. It takes nothing out of me to help you. I'm in your debt. It barely puts a dent in what I owe you, I—"

"And _I_ think you need some sleep, Hershel." She forced her hands between the both of them and used them like a wedge to drive them apart. The Professor relinquished his grip and was now looking down at her, flustered. He now realized how small she really was as he saw straight over her head, her hair still damp from the shower. Her face was hard, her resolve harder.

"I…no, I'm serious though, Laura—"

"And…so am I. Get some sleep. Please. You're…just spouting off…I think you're tired." She hurried to the kitchen, never looking up at him, and began pouring herself a glass of water.

Just spouting off. The Professor turned off the living room lights, shadowing his shame in the darkness. Just spouting off. He felt like a dunce all of a sudden, even though the rush of feelings a moment ago felt so…_warranted_. He was so sure of himself, why did he now feel so humiliated?

_Just spouting off_.

He made a promise never to do that again.

In the darkness, he tucked himself into his makeshift bed on the couch, gently positioning himself around the slumbering Carbite, as he listened for Laura, still out in the kitchen. He'd much rather be in his own bed, with or without his female guest, he didn't care. But he would never admit it openly.

Her small feet padded across the tile flooring, socks catching on the living room carpet as she approached where he was. Layton pretended to be sleeping.

Laura stood there, quiet, her frame casting a small shadow across the floor as the kitchen light poured from the adjacent room. Then she collected the bird and sheltered him in her arms. The toucan barely fluffed at her touch, croaking pleasantly to himself as he returned to dreams. His caretaker sighed forlornly.

Finally, Laura resigned to her room, and quietly closed the door.

It was the last sound the Professor heard that night, and the first he heard in the morning. His eyes felt heavy, his vision blurred as he strained to see the clock, hoping Laura had woke up a bit too early and that he could go back to bed.

He knew better, as she grumpily sauntered to the couch, nudging him with her knuckles.

"Let's go."

The car was soon loaded with luggage and the two travelers, bundled up tight and sleepily squinting, despite the darkness of early morning. They waited for several minutes before the little Laytonmobile warmed up to their comfort. The two of them breathed into their gloved hands, rubbing them together frantically as snowflakes fell to their premature deaths outside, settling onto the heated car windows and instantly melting. Laura watched them all before her eyes, existing one second, and the next…disappeared. The Professor merely looked back and forth from his hands to the key in the ignition, a taciturn, stony frown engraved into his face. He'd nicked the nail of his index finger against his jacket zipper, a sensation made ten-thousand times worse by the cold—even despite the numbness in his chilled hands. Not a good way to start the morning.

"Do you think they'll be safe on their own until Rosa comes?" Laura asked, the only words she'd say for the rest of the drive. Layton just nodded, and finished his concurring by putting the vehicle in reverse. The girl rose her eyebrows and turned away. He'd know better than to get cheeky with her, she grumbled silently to herself.

The ride to the airport was silent and heavy. The baggage jostled and bumped around in the backseat as Laura looked out of her passenger window, her eyes fixed on the rush of scenery outside. The hum of the vehicle slurred with the sound of frozen snow nicking the glass as the Professor kept his hands steady on the wheel, occasionally glancing over at his travel partner. Her body made no movement, but her feelings buzzed all around one thought like spastic moths all fluttering about the same lamp post.

Layton pulled the car up to the curb once they had arrived at the airport. The sun hadn't made any sign of waking anytime soon, and the sky remained a dark, inky black. The two got out in the cold darkness and unloaded their bags onto the walk, tugging at their collars, pulling their coats closer, and hissing as they breathed in the sharp air. It pierced the lungs, and the interior of a building never looked so enticing. The Professor helped take the bags into the airport and told Laura to wait there for him as he parked the car in the lot for those on extensive travel. She did as told, and sat on the top of his hard-cased luggage, looking around at the few people as crazy as they were, waiting to board their planes on one of the coldest mornings in the history of London. At least, it seemed to be that way, the girl thought, humming to herself.

Minutes later the Professor entered through the automatic doors behind a group of bleary-eyed businessmen. He was warming his hands enthusiastically and smiling, despite his still weary eyes.

"You look a bit more awake than in the car," he said with a light laugh.

"And you look a bit more happy."

Layton shook his head, laughing softly. "Surely you've hit your cold hand just right against a zipper, or something similar in size? That hurts. Sends that tingling through your hand, eating at the wrist…"

She smiled sleepily. "Enough to make you act like a jerk?

"Well, I…I'm a bit tired…"

"Funny, you've only acted that way around me. Everyone else gets fake, glossy-eyed, perpetually smiling Hershel. I get bitter, grumpy Professor _Crab_."

"Professor…Crab… Yes, you're definitely more awake."

"Am I? I don't feel more awake. I suppose when I sit, that's when I feel tired again… Suppose I'll stand and move about. Shall we?"

They gathered their things and checked them in at the desk before waiting to board. Laura watched a large fountain in the middle of a fluorescent-lit area that could possibly be called a lobby. It might have been bustling if it weren't in the dead of morning. She didn't know, and honestly didn't care. Watching the water shoot up and descend was making her drift into slumber just as looking out of the window in the car had, but she couldn't fall asleep completely; her nerves were synapsing several thousand times a second.

There was just something about waking up in the dead of night (morning? It didn't matter), packing up, shipping out, and hanging around an airport that invigorated her spirits. The wait, the energy of the place, coming to life, travelers convening, diverging again. It was a trip before the trip, even without a rambunctious crowd of angry soon-to-be passengers.

The Professor seemed to be feeling something similar, she observed, as he too was looking lethargic, but alert. He glanced at her when she had looked to the side, monitoring a large woman with a toy poodle. The woman was making more commotion than the dog, but both looked ridiculous as an attendant calmly explained the rules about dogs aboard their airlines.

Laura rolled her eyes, later thankful that those two weren't on their plane.

Finally, after an hour of waiting and security checks, they rose into the sky, the dark blanket of night beginning to tear and bleed as a small strain of red and deep, burnt orange appeared at the edge of the world. The clouds fled, and the wind bounced the vessel gently, mild turbulence causing Laura to develop a small fit of giggles, mostly in response to the Professor's more-than-mild worry. It wasn't obvious to those around, but she knew better. The calm twinkle had left his eyes, she could read it, sense it, but he feigned it all with a half-hearted plaster smile. She offered him a sick bag, which he declined stanchly multiple times.

They sat side by side, quiet for a short while, staring straight ahead. Both must have thought the same thing—that one can't sit so stiffly for hours and hours—and they slowly became more comfortable, turning towards each other and laughing as a picky woman of obvious wealth struggled to open the mini-table on the back of the seat in front of her. She unintentionally allowed it to pop open and bonk her square on the nose. Layton looked at Laura and smiled.

"Are you laughing at that poor woman's pain, Hershel?" Laura hissed in surprise. She kept her voice low.

"Not in the slightest. I'm merely smiling at the free show she was putting on." He gave her a quick once over, deciding she looked cuter when dead tired. Maybe it was her vulnerability; he didn't know, and didn't have enough time to analyze. "Well, here we are. On our way. Are you excited?"

"I must admit, although I _know_ we have an important purpose for going, I feel as if I've been released of some dark dread, and I can relax. Have fun." She stretched, remaining seated. "A fleeting bit of hope, but…"

Layton shared the sentiment. Last night had been foolish of him. He'd been brash, too bold. He picked up the pieces, and would try to mend them. He wasn't feeling apprehensive, he wasn't nervous. It was as if he'd known Laura his whole life, and she'd always been there, and they could talk talk talk until day's end without so much as a speculation into the other's intentions. Yet… he could tell Laura was keen to butcher _any_ advance if she felt it was too emotionally driven.

He felt something then, something sad. It sort of burst inside of him, a small bottle of realization opening forcefully in his mind, like a champagne cork, with no one else around to celebrate the occasion. Things weren't the same, he had to get it through his system. He was helping a friend, solving a puzzle, putting a mystery to rest. No more.

No more.

'_No more… That used to be enough, but…no more._'

His eyes stung as he tried to look at her from the side. Serene, she smiled and leaned back in her seat, her coat and jacket tucked neatly next to her in the chair. Maybe he _was_ going senile, as she'd suggested the night before. He certainly didn't feel as lax and content as she looked.

"Certainly, Laura," he responded with a nod. "We wouldn't drag ourselves all to way to America and not have at least the tiniest bit of enjoyment."

"Hmm." The noise almost sounded like agreement, but by the smirk on Laura's face—round like a cherub, but a far cry from her actually _being_ one—the Professor knew better. "And how are you going to enjoy it, Hershel?"

"Well, I…what meaning are you trying to convey…?"

"What _meaning_? I asked a simple question!"

"Well, it's a bit…your tone is…"

Laura snorted and struggled to stifle a loud laugh. "Your face! Ah ha! I'm going to start calling you Professor Beet." She snorted into her shirt sleeve. "No meaning. Just playing with you. Like you enjoy playing with me."

"No, no, you aren't going to start—"

"_'Start'_? No, it's already begun. You saw to that."

"I didn't see to anything, Laura, I…ahhrgh," he grunted, frustrated but secretly thrilled she wasn't incensed. He feared she'd carry on her disgust from yesterday, but he was now pleasantly surprised. "Listen, goodness, if you're talking about last night, I just—"

"Last night! Oh, no no no, you've been all googly eyes since I came back, so don't try getting out of this one! Because you certainly won't be. I know all of your weaknesses. It gives me a tremendous advantage over you."

"'Googly eyes'? 'Advantage'?! I have no idea what you're talking about." He turned his head away, his face still dark red. Sniggering quietly, Laura leaned forward to try and get a look at his face. Her mission was complete.

"Oh, you do know what I'm talking about. Don't play dumb with me. Hershel? Your hat isn't going to hide you now."

"This really is going to be a long ride, isn't it…" Like clockwork, he pulled the brim of his hat down, trying to cover his eyes.

"Indeed. Maybe you should just get a return flight as soon as we land." She shrugged. "You might not be able to handle this little escapade."

He had to stifle a laugh and quell the itch to roll his eyes, even though he could have from the concealed safety of his tilted hat. He resorted to restoring his top hat to its proper place and snapping his gaze back to the cocky student on his left. "Oh, you may be right. I should go back. It would go much more quickly, the investigation, if you were working alone. No distractions."

"Yes, actually. I won't argue with that."

"Interesting, as it was you that requested my help from the very beginning, was it not?" And…silence. "Hmm? What, is your tongue caught in your throat?"

Smiling to herself in the window, her reflection taunting her, Laura sighed.

"Fine. I'll leave you alone. But only if you promise to get me a souvenir."

"Shouldn't I be doing that for Flora and Luke…?"

"Yes, but you can always get one for your favorite student too, you know."

With an unsettling wink, she turned away and left the Professor to his own thoughts. Her own were already chastising her for being too comfortable with the situation.

Within the hour, she was slumbering away noiselessly. Professor Layton was too anxious for sleep, although his body desperately wanted it. He kept thinking of hypothetical situations that were too fantastical for reality, ones to solve their investigation, ones to solve his emotional dilemma with the sleeping girl beside him… A man of the real, suddenly he was daydreaming in fiction. It was foreign, but comforting. He had a long trip ahead, and didn't quite want to spend it sleeping.

But he looked to the side, and saw his partner quite peaceful. That was enough to curl his taut grin into a half-smile.

'_Maybe she's not as unbreakable as she let's on… What a puzzle. As are the recent deaths… What is the correlation? Is there a connection? And there's still not enough information about this Leopold character. I'd like to meet him, but it would be strange, to suddenly request a meeting with him for no immediate purpose; I don't even know him. However, things just aren't adding up. I don't quite understand what Laura's bothered about, but with people missing and passing away, _that_ is the strangest part. It doesn't make sense with that added in…What exactly does she suspect? I suppose I never really asked.'_

He stared at the seat in front of him, but didn't actually see it. '_Why didn't I ever ask what exactly she suspects? She just mentioned that her employer is…odd… Yes, now that I think about it, this is quite all hypothetical. Do I usually jump at others' hypotheses?_

_'I suppose that's the case… And all things start out as mere hypotheses… I'll have to inquire further, though…_

_'And as for our next destination… Such a unique, unknown location. It's a bit random, to choose such an obscure place. Supposedly a prime place for drilling… Is that just a façade?_

_'Stabilnon… I wonder what secrets you are hiding…'_

* * *

**END.**

**As always, you are encouraged to bring to my attention any typos, formatting errors (oddly places hyphens, dashes, etc.), and discrepancies in chronology or facts... I'm trying to make this as legit as possible, but my mind and time don't always allow for such a thing. :)**


	32. CHAPTER 32: STABILNON

**Author note: I'm hoping that people haven't forgotten about my story!**

**I apologize greatly for my absence. I've been dealing with many things, the biggest being that I was extremely sick for about the last third of a year with major intestinal problems. I was having severe bloating, constipation, screwed up bowel cycles, severe abdominal pain (felt like someone was gutting me like a pumpkin, or squeezing my guts like a tube of toothpaste every time I went to the bathroom…), and my energy levels were so shot I was pretty much begging for sleep. Doctors didn't care and just kept pumping me with medicines that gave me some WEIRD side effects. I had a colonoscopy that completely ruined me, a CT scan too…didn't find out anything, and I was still in pain.**

**So…..I had to solve it myself because I literally had NO life let in me, my brain was literally falling apart (I felt like I was going crazy), and I lost 15 pounds in 3 weeks. I weaned myself off the medicine (which gave me extreme withdrawal symptoms…It was like I was coming off of extremely crazy drugs). And it turns out—several hospital bills and sufferings later—that I can't eat/touch/be around gluten (found in wheat, rye, barley). Basically, that means I can't really eat anything because gluten/wheat is found in most food items nowadays because everything's processed around it. I can't eat out anymore, I have to prepare almost all of my food in advance, and it takes a LOT of thinking/preparation; not to mention, gluten free baked things (bread, cakes, etc.) are pretty gross…**

**I still need to get an endoscopy to see if it's Celiac Disease (where ANY gluten literally tears apart the intestine because the body starts destroying its own intestines), but I at least know it's gluten that makes me have the bad symptoms. So…..I've been really REALLY bitter about it, because I can't eat my favorite things anymore…..**

**And that's my life! I've had no time!**

**I'd like to thank the few people who have reviewed my story (but aren't members of fanfiction, so I couldn't reply). ALL of your reviews are important to me; I LOVE finding the review notice in my email, but I'd just like to thank those few since I couldn't write them directly. A few of you were brave and read the entirety of my story thus far in one sitting! Impressive!**

**ANYWAY! This chapter has important elements, but there are a lot of just plain fun things added in too. It's very long so I suggest reading in chunks. Any questions or discrepancies you notice, PLEASE let me know. I kept having to go back and read it over a ton of times, and while being sick, it has been difficult to write/edit. It may be difficult to understand….I may need to rewrite this chapter, because I'm really not happy with how it all came out.**

**Dreaming of wheat,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 32: STABILNON**

An abrasive wind played with locks of hair and tightly fitted winter caps, chafing the rosy cheeks of the morning's inhabitants as it rushed through alleyways and around cottages, under cold stone bridges and over semi-solid streams. It was almost a sarcastic joke, some bitter levity to break up the early monotony before the _real _show at sunrise.

The blazing disc of sun finally separated from the ocean horizon, burning the water's surface. It quietly bled out reds and oranges and yellows, all in one cold, rippled pool. Salty spray left the air with the smell of docks, wharfs, and sea spirit as the waves crested and broke on the gravelly shore. A few little moored boats bobbed up and down in approval of the new day with each rise and fall of the ocean swell; upon each rising of the sun, they begged and prayed to be removed from the frigid water, but their owners left them to the tides, forgotten and lonely despite the winter season.

An uncharacteristically _cold_ winter season, indeed.

Away from the coast spanned farmland and field, barns and livestock dotting the frosty grass like spots on a cow. Grain silos stood as raised battlements against the fleeting darkness of the Western sky. The shining metal bullets reflected the sun blindingly, a testament of the oncoming morn. The dairy farms and grain mills were already hard at work, as they already had been for hours. They hoped for a hot, noon sun to obliterate the layer of frost that blanketed the ground, and they scoffed at their strange weather.

A city barely a city, a village hardly a village, although the population was befitting of one. What the place lacked in populace numbers it made up for with work ethic. As a rural community, agriculture was a way of life rather than a profession, and quality was of utmost importance. Traditions were deeply rooted in the local psyche, and local pride even more so. The citizens were quiet, but not when it came to defending their way of life. To be frank, they may have been a bit bullish when it came to such things. But it was a rare event to get into verbal (much less physical) altercations.

Life went on as it had every day, in every season since the village's founding, centuries ago near the start of the fledging country, but recently the weather was as confusing as it was just plain _cold_. It wasn't common for freezing winters, _or_ snow, to make it this far south, It was an unexpected turn of events…

Just as much as the boiling rumors about oil refineries and off-coast drilling. The locals didn't want to be put on the tourism map. Or _removed _from _any_ map, which might literally be the case if the area was overcome by highways and suburbia and whatever else followed big money enterprises.

A hidden gem of the American south, a diamond in the rough along the Atlantic coast. Not many came in, and hardly anyone went out, as the residents were private anyway, and most who came to visit ended up staying. Such was the quiet, pleasant life in this place:

_ Stabilnon_.

The neighboring city's airstrip welcomed a single plane on the brisk morning. Its tires weighed down on the tarmac and scraped away the fleeting frost, and once it stopped, the passengers received the permission to unbuckle and depart the vessel. Each went on their own way from there, most likely never to meet one another again.

Mere minutes later, after a brief travel by car (which was quite bumpy and gravely, considering the cobbled and rough roads, if they could be called _roads_), the top-hatted professor and his disgruntled traveling partner exited their taxi and removed their luggage outside of a cozy-looking hotel. The driver smiled, took the fare, and accelerated the grumbling vehicle forward until it turned a corner and was out of sight.

It was the quietest that the entire journey had been; only a few brown leaves fluttered against the building's foundation, cartwheeling away with a whirlwind of flurries, and a few people just ahead were laughing outside a tiny breakfast café.

Laura stretched her bare hands to the pastel sky and smiled. "Finally. That plane seat was beginning to fuse to my behind. Did you know there have been people who've been restricted to their couches and their skin and the fabric fused together?"

"Lovely," Layton grumbled, warming his hands to distract himself from the disturbing images flooding his visual mind. "I must say, the stale cabin air was giving me a headache. The crisp air now is quite welcome." He looked around, grinned to show his approval, and gestured to their luggage. "Shall we secure our lodging? It's quite chilly out here."

"Yes, rather strange, since I thought the southern United States wouldn't be so…_frigid_."

The solid oak door of the entrance squeaked a bit on its hinges as they walked through into a warm, homey lobby. The carpet was a dark red, as deep as fall apples, and the walls were a creamy ivory plaster above chestnut wainscoting. The lights cast a golden glow over everything, like cookies baking in an oven, giving the space a snug and inviting feel. In the air was the scent of roasted nuts, making both the Professor and Laura's stomachs churn with hunger.

On the room's right sat a wide, heavy desk made of dark wood. A prim and proper young woman with high cheek bones stood hunched over the desk, busily writing something on a large notebook. The pair approached, and the Professor cleared his throat to garner the clerk's attention. She looked up, startled, and whisked away her papers and pen and smiled, pretending the articles were never there. Her cheeks flushed, and Laura smiled inwardly at her embarrassment.

'_She's probably bored out of her mind…_'

"Good morning, and welcome to the Patron of Stabilnon, the oldest running inn of this part of the low country," the girl rattled off in a warm voice. Laura immediately jumped at her accent. She forgot people from the United States sounded so different. The girl's twang was undeniably American, but had an even sharper edge than from the standard accent she'd heard on television. It must have been the southern influence, she suspected, although she didn't know a thing about it. She looked over at the Professor, who seemed unfazed. Perhaps he'd heard enough American accents in his day.

Layton tipped his hat and nodded to the clerk.

"Thank you, miss, for your kind welcome," he said softly, chuckling at the girl's surprised gasp. "Yes, a bit different than you're used to hearing, I'm sure… I suppose we're evenly met on that matter!"

"An Englishman! A genuine Englishman, here in this inn! With a top hat even! And I'm on duty! Lord knows I needed a pick-me-up!" the clerk stammered, beaming from ear to ear. If she were made of glass, her face may have cracked from the force of her smile. "I'm…I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that, it's just—"

"It's quite alright, young lady, it's not every day you get foreigners such as ourselves in your lovely hotel. I'm hoping you still have vacancy?"

"I…yes, yes, we do." She pulled out the pad of paper again, and almost dropped it. "Could I have a name to put down to secure your room?"

"You can put it under mine," Laura spoke up suddenly. "Laura Haris. One 'r' for 'Haris'. Yes, it's curious, isn't it?" She smiled as the girl crossed out 'Harris' and replaced it with the proper spelling.

"Oh, and will you be requiring one bed, or two?"

The Professor felt his face get warm, just as Laura shouted out, "TWO… Please."

The clerk eyed her carefully, judging her every move, but almost with an air of approval. "Alrighty!" She fished out a key from a clutter of keys and key rings hanging from a hook on the wall, and handed it to Laura. "You can stay as long as you need to. You'll be charged per night whenever you stay past 10 PM. So, for example, you'll be charged tonight at 10 PM for one night, and you may leave anytime tomorrow before being charged again at 10 PM. That way, you won't be rushed and you can enjoy your morning and afternoon. By the way, we offer breakfast from 5 AM to 10 AM, and then lunch until 3. Dinner starts at 5. We have awesome cranberry muffins, cheese and grits, and the best boiled crawfish this side of the Dixie Line, if I might make some suggestions."

Laura politely nodded.

'_Grits…?_'

"We also have free coffee and tea 24/7 in the café. Whenever you're finished with your stay," the girl continued, "just check out down here. Your room is on the third floor, and it's on the right when you reach the top of the stairs. If you require an elevator, there's one straight ahead, or an older one down the hall to your right. Please watch your hands and toes with the sliding gate on that one... It's a bit old-fashioned compared to this nice one behind me. If you would like help with your luggage, I can call over our bellboy."

"That's quite alright, miss, we can handle our baggage," Layton assured her. "Is there any local guide or information pamphlets for visitors?"

"There are several informational guides and papers in your room, sir. Should you need anything else, just holler to any of us down here, and we'll be glad to help. Enjoy your stay!"

They thanked the girl again, and walked around the desk towards the stairs. Laura had already ascended to the top and was awaiting the Professor, who finally arrived huffing and puffing, dragging his bag by the handle.

"You sound like a retired train," Laura quipped. "You should have gotten that little luggage trolley they had by the lift. You do know I move quicker than you, and my legs work poorly."

"I suppose I really should have packed lighter…"

"Or exercised more often," Laura whispered, which turned the Professor's head with a questioning look. "Nothing." She inserted the key and turned the knob to their room.

Sunlight flooded the floor, and the ocean was viewable from the window. Beautiful sights of the ocean were easy to tote as a perk of staying at the Patron since the hotel was the tallest building in the village (standing seven stories tall); it was like a skyscraper in comparison to everything else.

"Ooh, this is quite posh, I must say," Laura mused, walking slowly about the room. "A bit stuck in the 20th century, but it's very well-kept."

"I couldn't agree more. It fits my style," Layton sighed while admiring the wall sconces. "Rich in tradition, I must find the local historian or a museum curator…"

Shaking her head at the comment, Laura looked at both beds, side by side and completely alike, like identical twins, as the Professor stowed his baggage away in the closet. "Hmm, yes. I'll take _this_ one."

"All the same to me. You're the one paying for our lodging, you get to make the decisions."

"I suppose…" She grabbed a pamphlet off the night stand and flipped through it for a bit. "Apparently, this place was founded in 1794. Interesting. I'm surprised this little town is still around! The buildings are mostly originals!"

"I suppose America _does_ have a bit of history under its belt," the Professor chuckled. "There's most likely a lot of charming customs and stories hiding in this place. I'll need to take a look at all the structures here. I'd be jealous if you came here on your own."

Laura cleared her throat, giving him a pointed, admonishing look. "I thought you came along to protect me. Or did you let go of your chivalry back in London?"

"I…well, you know…"

"Hmm. That's what I thought. You're a brute after all."

"Now see here!"

"I thought," Laura interrupted, too hungry to care about his argument, "that we'd get a bite to eat, and go exploring. I have a strange feeling about this place. It's as hidden and secluded as a recluse, and I came all the way from London to suck the oil out of it. It's a strange target. Seems a bit…curious and completely out of the way. And it's about as curious as why I'm going along with it."

The Professor smoothed out his wool pullover and sat on his bed, facing Laura just across. "That reminds me. I was doing some thinking on the way over. During all this, I never once bothered asking, at least, I don't believe I ever did. What exactly _do_ you suspect of Leopold? Any certain motives?"

The question caught the young woman by surprise. Was she sure of the answer herself? "I…I'm not completely convinced of any one thing, I suppose. I told you that my original task was to engineer machines used for excavation. And then, now, oil? I don't really like the change of agendas. And Leopold just became…odd. His demeanor became more…_motivated_."

"Then why did you stay on board with his plans? And you know, you didn't bother taking this to the police. You came to me first." He looked at her thoughtfully as she averted her eyes to the pamphlet in her hands.

"Well, as for 'staying on board', it was…a bit of security, for one."

"Security? It hardly seems sec—"

"I needed something to do, and I needed the money. It was my _job_," she shot back coolly. Her annoyance was starting to seep through her crumbling façade of a temper. "I couldn't sit at home anymore with my demanding parents. You know how they are. Each and every day they interrogated me about my future, what I was to do with myself, et cetera, et cetera. And I found this position, it pays well, so…"

"And you've suspected your employer of something dastardly, yet continue working for him?"

"I'm not _sure_, that's the thing!" Her voice reached a sharp tone, one reserved only for when she was purely incensed. "What have I been telling you? I have no _proof_. I merely thought it was odd that he changed goals, and then I found him playing around with the Book of Memory, and the rest is history! Isn't that enough to claim as suspicious? That's why we're here now, to find some clues…hopefully. And I came to you because Scotland Yard isn't going to listen to a girl for _suspecting_ something. They have enough on their plates concerning crimes that have already _happened_, not things without evidence."

His face as set as stone, Professor Layton gazed at her intently, hiding his interest. Whether it was the hunger, jetlag, or stress, he didn't know, but his words seemed to have struck a nerve with Laura. Perhaps a few nerves. This fact alone piqued his curiosity, but he had to mask it.

"You didn't need to answer the question specifically, Laura," he said after a few seconds, treading the minefield carefully. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and folded his hands. "I was just curious about your thoughts. That's all."

"My thoughts. That's all," she parroted.

"Yes, I wanted to take your suspicions and feelings into account. Many things—even investigations—can start from an evaluated feeling, even if it isn't rooted in fact at first. Instinct and intuition still matter, as they play a large part in what goes on around us, and we should be in tune with—oof!"

The wind had almost been knocked from his lungs and he'd been pushed back in an arc several degrees from his original position. His mind momentarily went blank, his conscious struck blind. When his senses returned, he felt warm, soft fabric wrapped around his neck, and realized Laura had launched forward and thrown herself about his shoulders. She was half on the bed, half leaning into his torso. He felt his skin immediately grow hot as she squeezed him tighter, and if he could have seen himself, his face was most likely tomato-colored. He chanced to continue breathing, even though he was mortally afraid he'd break some unwritten rule about how to handle a distressed woman.

"Umm…err, Lau…ra?" he spluttered, his voice dredged in discomfort.

"I'm sorry," she moaned sadly, her face buried in his right shoulder. Her breath warmed through his jacket to his skin, giving the Professor goose bumps all along both arms. "I don't know why I snapped at you. I thought you were starting to think that this is all just some stupid, unfounded speculation and you'd give up on me and the investigation…so…I got a bit worried."

"No, I…it wasn't that at all…I…"

Layton was finding it rather difficult to speak. He'd forgotten the feeling of being embraced, especially by someone important to him. Or…someone who _used _to be important…? He still couldn't accept how to handle that, but whatever was happening now, it wasn't just a congratulatory hug from someone at the University, a slap on the back in passing, a hand shake that was meant to convey some friendly message. This was deep. This was warm.

And it really didn't help that he was receiving it from a young woman, one he quietly (but admittedly) found attractive.

"Laura, it's quite alright, I'm not giving up on anything, especially not you, so you have nothing…to worry about…"

Deciding that she'd disobeyed her standards for quite long enough, Laura released her grip and pulled away, ending her awkwardly contorted hug stance. The Professor looked on as she resumed her former position opposite him. She might have had a tear in her eye but he wasn't entirely sure. Maybe it was just the light.

'_Is she really that in need of my help…that she fears losing my participation in all this?_'

"Okay, are you ready to get something to eat? I'm famished! Surely we can enjoy some sort of brunch, and some tea for you," she blurted out, trying to hide her evident embarrassment. Her nervous laugh closed the conversation, even though the Professor had a plethora of questions.

They left the room, Laura locking it behind them. They'd already descended the stair cases to the ground level, but Layton didn't realize it; he was drowned it thought. Laura had seen to it that they were seated by the waiter at the little café, unbeknownst to him. He was in a limbo of thoughts.

He didn't want to worry the girl any more, but…that was just it. Was she truly worried just now? Something wasn't right with the whole aura of the past five minutes. Through all they had investigated, the past five minutes were the most telling. No hard evidence, but intuition didn't always need hard evidence to spark. His was a fire started without kindling—a spontaneous combustion of finely honed instinct—and it was now burning strong.

They sat down, Layton cocked his hat, and he smiled, seemingly nonchalant and unnerved. He let her order them tea and a light meal, and nodded when she'd make small talk observations about their surroundings. He'd learned how to multi-task in his time; it was nothing to carry on a mundane conversation with one person, and carry on one of his own interiorly.

'_That was…incredibly uncharacteristic of her._ _I can't say I'm complaining, I…quite enjoyed that… but the fact remains: that was completely out of the ordinary, and more importantly…out of character._

'_I'll have to keep an eye on her. Perhaps she's going mad. Or maybe she's just opening up and doesn't know how to show it? We've been on that road before…maybe I should just go with the flow, and enjoy her advances in silence…_

'…'

'_Or maybe there's something she doesn't want me to know._'

He eyed her darkly from underneath his top hat as Laura carried on about meteorology, or…some kind of '-ology'; her jargon was testament to _that _much, but what _was_ she going on about…?

More pressing, perhaps ten years to stew in contempt could have really made her cynical enough to conceal information, whether it was harmful to him or not. Didn't she still trust him? He thought she did, as it was through her prompting that they were met once more. Although, he always thought he'd met his match in Laura. Out of all of his adversaries and enemies (whatever the opposing person considered themselves to be in relation to the Professor), he'd never met one who truly bested him, one who could rip him apart emotionally and put him back together again, one who really challenged him…

…or one who understood him well enough to become dangerously manipulative.

"Hershel? What are you thinking about?"

He snapped from his thoughts, filing them in some metaphorical mind folder, and was met with a pair of questioning brown eyes.

"What do you mean?" he replied, forcing a grin even though he knew it wouldn't abate her suspicions.

"I'm not stupid; you're buried in thoughts. And you can't answer a question with a question," she groaned, waving off the conversation momentarily as their food was brought to table. A few bites in to their sandwiches (the only things Laura trusted to taste good at the moment, although she might have been hungry enough to eat anything), she took a large sip of water and cleared her throat. "Anyway, I realize that I…um…was a bit _odd_ back in the room… I'd like to apologize for that. If that's what you're thinking about, I—"

"No, that's not quite it, well—perhaps, a bit, but…no! No it's not! Stop laughing, _Laura_…"

Defeated, again. He realized it, and sputtered some inaudible comment before finishing off his food without another word. Laura, on the other hand, almost choked on her water.

"I swear, if you don't stop with your red faces and tense little grimaces, people are going to think you're constipated… Oh, no more comments? Hmm. Okay. Have it your way then, Professor."

"It's Hershel."

"I'll request for some laxatives at the nearest druggist when we go out."

"You will do no such thing."

"I will." With a sobered sigh, the girl handed their bill to the waiter, who walked off to apply it to their room charge. "Okay. Now that that is all settled, stop the teasing and the cheekiness, will you? I just might…fall for you or something completely inane like that," she murmured into her hands, feigning to warm them as they made their way to the hotel's exit.

"W-What did you say, I couldn't quite hear—"

"I said stop flirting with me because you're an annoying, grumbling old man and I'm going to do important things now like _explore_!"

"No, you…said… Nevermind…"

They walked out of the hotel in silence, Laura smiling victoriously, Layton feeling like a sheepish youngster who'd just been chided. The warmth of the building was instantly siphoned from their bodies when the door shut behind them. Both pulled on their gloves and Layton pulled his hat down tighter over his ears. Laura suggested they do a bit of light shopping for souvenirs, but the Professor found more interest in requesting a meeting with the resident historian. Rolling her eyes wouldn't help, so Laura decided to go off on her own way while he made friends with the history of the place. He could give her the abbreviated version later.

"Or…maybe not so abbreviated, at the rate he talks," she laughed to herself.

When the two of them met up later, there wasn't much to share concerning any findings. Neither one of them said it, but they didn't really have much fun spending the day apart. The shopping was cut short when Laura made her way too far west and instead took a long walk around a rather elaborate dairy farm, which she felt compelled to tour, but found out tours were closed to the public until next April. Similarly, the Professor was unable to go on a historical tour due to the museum curator taking a sick day, so he visited a small tea parlor and spoke to the owner about the differences between English and American tea culture. The day had been a bust investigation-wise, but perhaps it was for the best, as Laura began to really feel the difference in their time zones.

"I'm quite fatigued," she said weakly as they finally returned to their room. It was only 6:30, but the sun was already half asleep, and the day had its toll on their energy. The Professor, thinking they'd get a bit hungry before the night was over, purchased some light refreshments.

"Jetlag getting to you, or is it the cold?" he asked with a smile. "The plane ride was tiring in itself." Digging through his bag, he pulled out two packages of already-popped popcorn and some candied pecans and offered them to Laura. "If you're hungry."

Tossing her coat and belongings against a wall, she shook her head to the food and threw herself onto her bed, ignoring Layton's channel-surfing of the old television. It surprisingly had cable, and he was amused with the American setup of programs. He left it on something boring (Laura thought) and went to the bathroom to change into something more comfortable. His plaid flannel pants and loose cotton T-shirt looked cozy, and Laura decided to change her own attire, forcing herself to gather new clothes and make her way to the bathroom.

The Professor was sitting against a pile of lavish pillows propped up against the headboard when Laura emerged in her own pajamas. She could have fallen asleep then and there, but her stomach growled. Layton must have heard, because he laughed and held out a bag of the popcorn.

"Fill yourself up before you turn in." Ambling over, she plopped down on the bed's edge and took a handful.

"Why popcorn?"

"It looked rather tasty, and the kind lady at the store let me sample. Kettle corn, apparently." He watched her eat a few pieces, then go back to her own bed. She sat there, chewing solemnly.

"Aren't you tired?" she droned sleepily.

He stared straight at the screen as if he didn't hear her, but responded between crunching, "I suppose a bit, but I'd like to relax before falling asleep. It's not often I get to do such a thing."

As much as she agreed, the darkness soon gripped her eyelids and forced them shut, and that's all she knew of the evening.

The next day found her curled up and smashed into all of the pillows stuffed at the headboard of the bed. She looked like a covered egg in a nest of cotton.

"Pry open those eyes, Laura, the day's already begun," the Professor called out, possibly from the bathroom. It sounded far enough away to be the bathroom, but Laura didn't know. Her eyes lazily fluttered open, then snapped shut again as the dry, heated air stung her eyes.

"Ungh…"

"We had a lazy day yesterday, so we should probably continue our trip more seriously. What's on your agenda?"

"Sleeping."

"Laura…"

Peering through half-open (or was it half-closed?) eyelids, she yawned before giving an explanation of schedule. "I'm meeting with a few engineers tomorrow to go over some things."

"Things?"

"Stuff you wouldn't understand, but…I'll try to give it simply. Preliminary drilling started a little more than half a year ago, to test the quality of the oil. I got the all clear on that from my geology engineers, and my drill design was already sent over last month. Since I need to monitor the construction, I'll be out on the spar platform…that's where they drill. Out in the ocean. But that starts _next_ week. Nothing today, just a generic meeting tomorrow…just…a generic one…" She flopped unceremoniously back against her pillows.

"Well, that gives us some time to explore the town properly, so…rise and shine."

One tossed cup of cold water later, Laura grabbed some dry clothes and cursed her way to the bathroom as Layton smugly waited outside the hotel room.

Groggily, she made her way out of the hotel beside a perky Professor, which might have irritated her if she'd been coherent enough. Other than a pair of gloves and a simple cotton band around her head and ears, she only donned her white lab coat as a barrier against the cold, playing her part as the true scientist, but not purposefully so; it merely comforted her somehow, cloaked beneath it. And she liked the way her navy dress with brass buttons hid darkly underneath. That was the extent of her sense of style, as she let her sandals do the rest for her. They were of a fashionable variety rather than practical, something uncharacteristic for her, yet her break from spontaneity was to be expected now and then. With elastic, fitted strings that snaked in diamond patterns up and around her legs, ending just below the knee, they mocked boring espadrilles for being stuck in the 14th century.

Which, Laura duly noted, was when the espadrille was thought to have been created.

"Spain. Well, the Pyrenees, Catalonia. Around the 13th, 14th century, give or take," she stated matter-of-factly (although somewhat off-topic) when the Professor questioned her curious get up. "These mimic them, but are much better. The original creators didn't know how to do it right."

"And neither do you!" Layton spluttered incredulously. "It's likely 0 degrees here! You're barely covered."

"You _do _know winter is my season. As long as my hands and ears are covered, the rest is fine. I'm likely to become agitated and need to let off steam anyway."

"I'll stick to my wool coat…"

And he did. Despite a whispered comment that he looked like a stuffed, burlapped camel in a top hat.

Their investigation started as soon as they left the establishment, and they made their way along a narrow sidewalk than ran beside the road. It was actually more 'road' than 'sidewalk', but luckily the traffic was close to nonexistent. In such a small town, most people relied on foot power for transport, and a car rarely grumbled by as they walked. Regardless, for safety's sake, Professor Layton steered Laura as far away from the car traffic as possible, despite her protests.

"I think," said the Professor, his hands stuffed deep into his warm coat pockets, "that if we get a better understanding of the town by socializing with the residents, perhaps we'll be led to some hidden secret about the place. That is, if indeed there is any other reason than oil for Leopold to choose such a location."

"Makes sense to me. But…I'm not exactly the sort to just walk up to people and ask them about this or that…"

"Of course not. You just talk big amongst close friends."

"That's right, I…hey…watch it." She glared sideways, then smiled. "Well, I suppose I can just let you do the talking. You're the lecturer after all. I'll just take mental notes."

They walked a couple of blocks and crossed the town square. Even amidst the brisk morning wind, customers filed in and out of a cozy-looking store. The Professor looked at the sign and knit his brows in confusion.

"Oh, it's…not English…"

"It's _German_, Hershel." Laura clapped her hands together gleefully. "Well, perhaps I _will_ do the talking here."

Ducking into the store behind an elderly couple, Layton and Laura were greeted with the fragrant scents of baked goods and meat. And there was a _lot _of meat.

Strings and ropes of sausage links hung from ceiling hooks, both in the store and in a cooler room barely visible from the customer's area of perusal, but open enough for a person to get a glimpse. The many ropes were like oddly shaped party streamers. Some were a reddish purple, others a milky white, and still others were an uncomfortable, sickly orange-brown. Some of the casings shown like a shimmering glaze as a couple of the attendants gathered up the coils, the light reflecting off of them as they were packaged up for customers.

A long line of glass cold cases sat to the pair's right, their contents varying from elaborately decorated tortes to large wheels of cheese. A couple of the display coolers were dedicated wholly to the long ropes of sausage, coils upon coils of preserved meat in little piles that resembled lazy, fat snakes. They came in any flavor one might think of, indicated by little handwritten cards placed in front of each product.

"Apple and…jarlsburg?" the Professor wondered aloud.

"It's a cheese, Professor," Laura said knowingly, peering into the many cases of meat. Her mouth was watering now, and it just had to happen that she'd rejected breakfast that morning. "I'm regretting not grabbing something for the road…I'm starving."

"Well, I'm sure we could get something here, if I could…just pronounce them properly…"

At that moment, a portly man, particularly thick around the middle and under the chin, waddled to the cashier counter, smiling from ear to ear. Layton turned quickly after the man shot out a foreign greeting quickly followed by one in accented English. Laura responded to the odd words, which could only have been German, the Professor deduced. However, he was quite left out, something he wasn't used to, as he knew not a lick of the gruff language now being tossed back and forth liberally.

"I suppose I'd need a translator to gather any meaning out of this conversation…"

The man, most likely the proprietor, was pleasantly surprised that the out-of-place tourist actually knew his language, and Laura conversed for several minutes. It didn't appear to be purely food related, and the Professor hoped she'd come away from the encounter with something more than edibles.

Minutes later, Laura handed him a bag containing a piece of torte in a fancy plastic container and a few sausage links, as well as a separate package of something tightly wrapped in white butcher's paper. He grimaced when he took it from her, as it gave a bit under his grasp, slightly squishy to the touch, even under the crinkle of the paper.

"Pig snouts and tongues set in aspic!" Her face was so joyful, he might have joined in her happiness, but he only heard the words 'snouts', 'tongues', and 'aspic,' and _that _ only summoned repulsion out of him.

"_What?!_"

"Ha ha! It's only _souse_…"

"Well, that's…not exactly on my list of the most appetizing foods, but…"

"Trust me, it's better than it sounds. But then again, your taste buds are…dainty."

"_Dainty?_"

"Come, let's go."

They exited the shop, Layton merely waving his goodbye. Laura grinned behind cupped hands, warming them enthusiastically.

"So, what were you talking about back there? Did you find out anything?" Layton asked.

"Oh yes. They make their sausages in house, and their cheeses are all made across the way by that dairy farm. Isn't that neat? What a quaint little place, I'm rather taken with this town already…"

Not amused, the Professor sighed.

"Laura…anything _pertinent_?"

"Oh, yes. The owner said there's a nice little German population here. Apparently all 3rd and 4th generation immigrants, but they still have a strong sense of Germanic pride. I felt empowered!"

"I…can't believe you…"

He walked away furious, leaving Laura with a questioning look.

"What?" she asked to his back, following him.

"We're supposed to be asking questions about the idiosyncrasies, the hidden details about this place, and you're not even concerned with the important issues of this investigation. Are we here for leisure, or do we have a defined purpose?"

His tone was subtle, but Laura could feel the bite in his voice. She looked forlornly at the rocks underfoot as they passed over them.

"We're…we're… Well, why are you allowed to relax and watch the telly, like you did last night, and I'm not allowed to enjoy some camaraderie with people that share a similar heritage to mine? It wasn't really _that _detracting from our purpose, was it?" Letting her arms fall to her side, she stopped walking. He sensed it and stopped too. "Is that so wrong? We'll be here for two weeks. I can stop by a sausage shop I should think!"

His face more red from embarrassment rather than the cold, he turned around to face her. He might have further admonished her lack of work ethic, but instead he felt…_calm_, almost too _tired_ to argue. The only thing flowing through his system now was contentment, although his initial reaction had just been that of _dis_contentment…

"I'm…sorry."

"I think that I can—wait, '_sorry'_?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. We can just go about our day, biding our time, and let things happen as they will."

"Is that sarcasm?" She eyed him through a discerning lens.

"I'm not very good at sarcasm, am I?" He gave her a wink, and resumed walking.

Although the reaction was welcome, it wasn't met without questioning. Laura walked beside her travel partner quietly, looking him up and down for a further change in demeanor. Perhaps it was just her expectations getting muddled, but she was sure that an argument was brewing outside the sausage shop, now far behind them. Then it just…_died_.

The rest of the day was spent going in and out of shops, chatting with a grubby road worker who was replacing an unearthed rock in the cobbled street, and a harried young woman with an angry toddler. Barely keeping hold of his hat, the Professor narrowly dodged a toy car as the little boy lobbed it through the air without notice, grazing the top hat within a centimeter's clearance. Horrorstruck, his mother apologized over and over, tears in her eyes as she pulled her child from the store. Laura couldn't help herself from laughing after the two left, despite Layton's emphasis on the fact that he could have been severely injured.

"That car was _metal_, and was _quite_ large. I don't think a potentially bruising situation is anything to laugh about…"

"Oh, you and your bruises. You bruise just by having someone look at you. Poor Professor Banana."

"First it's Professor _Beet_, now it's _Banana_!" he groaned.

"I quite _like_ beets and bananas…" she said dreamily, obviously thinking of some far-off meal.

Walking away from the shop, they spotted a sleepy looking gentleman chewing a fat cigar outside a burly looking pub. He looked older than the town itself, liver spots and all. The man turned his head and eyed the oncoming couple through wrinkled, squinted slits.

"God's green earth, I wake up this mornin' expectin' nutin' but normalcy and my faithful stogie, and lookee here, we've got a real-life fancy man!" he half choked, barely holding onto his cigar as he coughed and laughed. "That fancy hat is quite a statement, my friend! A real handsome young man, you are! And such a lovely lady at your side!"

"Hello there, sir," Layton greeted the man, tipping his 'fancy' hat graciously. "You're too kind."

"And…that accent! You're a Lobsterback!"

"I…beg your pardon?"

"Redcoats! You lot, yer…yer _British_! Wait 'til the wife hears 'bout this, I've met a _real_ Englishman and I can only assume an Englishlady as well!" He stood on creaky legs and placed his hand into Layton's, shaking it as if he wanted to rip it from his wrist. "Pleased to meet yer acquaintance, Mister, uh…"

"Layton, Professor Hershel Layton, and this is my travel partner, Laura Haris." He was glad to have his hand back (intact) and he chuckled as the old man haphazardly stuffed the stogie into his pocket, pulled it right back out, and then stuff it back in again. He had apparently never met anyone outside of his own part of the United States, he was so excited.

"Professer! A pro-_fes_-er. Boy, you must be smarter than a whip, as cultured and fancy as you is, I'm so pleased to meet ya, right here in Stabilnon and all. Typically we aren't too fond of folks comin' through here, but it's nice to see some proper folk comin' 'round. Been gittin' some strange people lately…"

Laura, who'd remained silent, laughed dryly from her spot next to Layton.

'_Proper folk…If only Hershel was _proper folk...'

"Well, I thank you for the warm welcome," the Professor started, hastily interrupted by the elderly gentleman. He raised a wrinkled hand and shook his head.

"Now, boy, you'll have to help me wit sut'm, sut'm _real_ difficult like. See, this friend o' mine likes to pass the time with _riddles_, and this one might prove yer worth here."

As odd as it sounded (since he came up with the things at inopportune times), Professor Layton wondered to himself: _Is this really the place for a puzzle_? But, in keeping with his code, he graciously accepted the request, nodding appreciatively.

"I would be most happy to help you out. I'm quite the puzzle aficionado, if you can believe it."

"Oh, I believe it!" the man yelled out. "By the way, my name's Ol' Willem, and if you'd be so kind, I'd be ever grateful if you'd just solve this for me before the sleeping spell."

Laura craned her head sideways, looking at Ol' Willem, perplexed. "The…'sleeping spell'?"

"Oh yes, outsiders won't know a thing of it. It's jus' a phrase we people here use for our nap, but no worries about that."

Completely confused, the girl glanced over at the Professor, wondering what he was thinking. She was cut off from her own mind babble as the crumpled old man delivered his request.

"Here's my little puzzle for you. It's probably not so hard, but I jus' couldn't make heads 'r tails of it! Okay, here goes. My buddy says this to me:

_A man says to his friend: "My garden keeps me in line. I don't dare make any mistakes."_

"_Why's that?" asks the friend._

"_I've got a bunch of eyes on me all the time! I don't dare tell any secrets either. No gossip from me!"_

_The friend looks at the man curiously, then smiles and laughs._

"_I suppose you do have quite the lively garden!"_

_What plants does the man cultivate?_

And that's all he says to me! I thought of all the plants it might be," Ol' Willem sputtered with a hack and a cough, "and I come up with nothing. Asked my wife too, all she could come up with were Spider-Eye Geraniums for the 'eyes' bit…"

The Professor was silent a moment, then made the comment, "I'm not so sure that it's the _name_ of the plant that is the key…"  
"It's not?"

"No, I'm quite certain there's something else that might have been overlooked," he said delicately, making sure his own logic was sound.

"Yes, Mr. Ol' Willem," Laura finally spoke, "I'm thinking it's something the plants possess. A certain characteristic about them."

A few moments passed as Ol' Willem craned his neck one way, then the other, cleared his throat in a thick and gargley sort of way, and then laughed. "I guess the old aren't always the wisest. Yes, you two have taught me well this afternoon! _Eyes_, that's of potatoes, and you wouldn't dare tell secrets around so many _ears_! It's got t'be _corn_!"

Layton smiled proudly, as he would at a student who'd experienced a mental breakthrough, understanding washing over them. "As I was thinking. Brilliant work, my good man!" Laura merely nodded, a faint smile at the corners of her lips.

Rubbing his shiny and wrinkled head, the old man grinned, showing off a proud set of yellowed and golden teeth. A few were crooked at odd angles, like ancient headstones in an equally ancient cemetery. _This man might not be far from such a place_, Laura thought somewhat shamefully. "I'll tell you what, since you were such a big help," the elderly man gurgled with a throaty laugh. "Some advice. The best place to visit while ye'r in Stabilnon is the Making Merry Tavern, just down a'ways. A fine brew they have, but it's a tad pricey for folk like me. I wouldn' go now though, you'll be feeling the logs pretty soon, I'm bettin'."

"If you would be so kind, would you mind explaining what you meant earlier by the 'sleeping spell' and…'feeling the logs pretty soon'?" the Professor asked tentatively. "We haven't heard anyone mention such things in our time here, and—"

"Well, let's just say if you've got logs, you've got to _saw_ them, isn't that the truth!" Ol' Willem hacked again, sniggering softly after something cracked in his throat. "You'll get my meaning. It's nuthin' to be worried about, but it's not so much fun if we just tell y'all about it. Don't worry, nuthin' to be alarmed 'bout.

"Now, thank you two for yer smarts, and have a great time during yer stay." And he turned towards the pub, slipped through the heavy wooden door, and was gone.

The wind slapped them both in the face; they did not realize it as they listened to Ol' Willem, but it had been tearing at their coattails the entire time. Layton's hand rose to his chin and stayed there, as it did when he pondered things. Laura did nothing more than do her pondering in stock-still silence.

'_I'm not quite sure how to interpret that man's…strange predictions, if that's what they were. This sleeping and log business is rather curious. And what's Hershel doing just standing there looking ridiculous? He usually has _something _to say about such oddities…_'

"What do you make of it?" she asked after a time. The cold was more apparent now that they'd stopped walking, and she wanted to move again.

"I'm not entirely certain. Perhaps Ol' Willem is…well, he is a bit up there in age. Perhaps he's just trying to spook us with some local, made-up legend, as some older gentlemen take to doing."

"Like Dean Delmona?" Laura questioned with a shrug and a tilt of the head.

"Not exactly, but…"

"Dr. Schrader?"

"No, he never did such things, although he does babble sometimes…"

"You?"

"I…let's just continue our journey…"

Quaint and picturesque shops behind them, they seemed to have stumbled upon a small block of residential housing. The buildings were mostly ivy-covered, wooden shingle houses, with a few variants to make each one unique and different in their own way. Some had wrought iron arbors that arched over the front walk, dark green ground cover around the houses' foundations, complete with a clinging bit of frost. Others had a hodge-podge of bright lawn ornaments, while still others had silent flower beds and cold ornamental bench seats. All were frozen in the quiet, seemingly the only thing that they had in common.

Not many people were out and about in this area, only an occasional fretting mother or grumping father, begrudging their work when it happened to take them outdoors. A child cried out once, but was silenced quickly (how it was done was unknown). A door slammed here and a cat ran there, startled from underneath a boxwood hedge, but otherwise, the place was as calm and eerie as an iced up pond in the thick of a forgotten wood. Unlike the town center minutes behind them, the stone pathways now wouldn't even permit the click-clack echoes from their shoes; the ground was frosted concrete, and their footfalls were dull.

As the Professor and Laura passed through, there was a point where it'd been ten minutes of snail-paced wandering without so much as a bird chirp or twig snap. When Laura was finally about to make a comment—she was afraid she'd gone deaf, the world was so mute—Layton hummed a low _Hmm?_ of bewilderment. The girl stopped when he did, half a step behind him.

"What is it, Hershel?"

"I just now seem to have…noticed something…" He walked up to the edge of the lawn of one of the houses, and stared. "These foundations, their structure…"

"Foundations?" She shrugged after glancing at a few quickly. "And?"

"Do they not seem odd to you?"

She looked more closely, feeling suddenly ashamed of herself, but for what reason, the answer was still hiding. What was she looking at? More importantly, what was she looking _for_? Her eyes flashed over the bottom-most part of the buildings, where frozen earth met steel and stone. "They are all…well, it seems they are all of the same in build."

"The reinforcement of each house's foundation, if you look more closely, appears to be very sound. I might even venture to say, each house appears _fortified_."

As an analytical thinker (more specifically, as an engineer), she now felt shame genuinely. It was true: each home—no matter how different the landscaping, exterior designs of the roofs and frames, adornments and window shapes—each home was sitting atop the same foundational base of a heavy steel frame surrounded by concrete and stone. It wouldn't have looked odd for a house or two to have been built that way, but it _was_ odd that _all_ of the houses had this characteristic. As the very support of the structure, it seemed as if the base was equipped with a substantial amount of long-lasting, stable materials. Apart from stability, the foundations of the houses gave off the idea that they were meant to be _enduring_…

'_Enduring…through what_?' Laura wondered, her face scrunched up as she thought.

"I'm surprised you made the observation," she then said aloud, smiling, not really impressed at all. It wasn't really a compliment for the man who'd solved countless mysteries and crimes all over London. He should live up to his reputation, and such an inspection of their surroundings wasn't at all shocking.

"I could say I'm equally surprised you _didn't_. Isn't it obvious? This is a seemingly crucial part of their engineering. To what end, for what purpose, I am not certain." He rubbed the brim of his top hat between thumb and index finger as if to remove it, trying to decide whether to comb his fingers through his hair or just go back to thinking. He looked at the girl curiously. "I may not be a structural engineer, but after years of researching, observing architectural structures and analyzing buildings found at archaeological digs, a detail like this shouldn't go unnoticed, I'm thinking. It's the sort of detail that could lead to key, critical information about the background of this place."

"Yes, you're on to something," she agreed, "however, this sort of reinforcement…why? It's a little farming village. These people are barely on the map, and they seem to be prepared for a…structural upset. As if any turmoil is going to shake this place to its core." The giggle passed through her lips before she could stop it. "Such a funny place."

Although she was interested, her mind was elsewhere. It wanted cool sheets and soft pillows, and she immediately yearned to stretch amongst blankets and oversized pajama folds. Laura was _tired_, and it was hardly past noon.

"Hmm," Layton grunted, still studying the foundation of the house in front of them. He walked forward into the yard until he met with the building and reached out, stroking the stones and concrete thoughtfully. He removed his glove and touched the cold rock. "I suppose it's just too strange to guess at. Perhaps someone in town will know…"

"Hershel, I'm really starting to feel strange."

Looking up from the base, he set his eyes on hers. "What do you mean? Are you ill?"

"Well, I…I don't think so, but I've just become so…tired all of a sudden…"

"Is it your legs? We _have_ walked quite a bit today, I supposed we should have taken breaks…"

"No, it's…I'm just very sleepy," she said, almost whining.

As soon as she'd mentioned it, he evaluated his own feelings and noticed that he felt likewise, and it wasn't beyond him to be concerned. "I won't object to returning to the hotel. I'm a bit worn out myself, although I can't say we've done too much to warrant this."

"I know, but it's just my limbs…"

As if made of lead, Laura felt her body cave into the mattress once they'd returned, and that was all she knew. She hadn't bothered to remove her coat or gloves. The Professor watched her fall asleep, face buried into the pillow. The girl seemed more relieved than peaceful.

'_She seems to have gotten exhausted from something, whether it's illness or something else, I do not know…'_ he thought in silence. '_And while it looks like the best thing in the world to just fall asleep, I'm a bit too worried to let myself drift…_'

* * *

Flora shrieked as a blur of black and rainbow crashed into her, knocking her cross-stitch materials to the floor. She tried to catch it all as it escaped her hands, but only grappled at the air.

"Oh, _Carbite_, you've completely _ruined_ it!" She quickly fetched it all up and placed it gingerly into her dress, as if gathering eggs. "My aida fabric…"

"Flora, why'd you bring all your things? You knew we wouldn't be here that long." Now a bit shook up from the surprise scream, Luke had been carefully scanning the many monitors that were stacked in the tiny, shed-like room. It was the third time they'd made the trip to Petrolite Industries' campus, and the third time they'd felt their hearts catch in their throats as they bolted for the bird cages, their mission hard set into their brains. Once in the security shed, they locked the door, let Carbite out of a mini Rubbermaid tote (formerly only used for Flora's cross-stitch and sewing supplies), and glued their eyes to the TV screens for about an hour before quickly running all around the cages and feeding the noisy parrots. The first time they'd come by, they were too frightened to leave their sanctuary within the hour, and stayed for almost three and a half hours total, which gave them quite a time explaining their whereabouts to Rosa.

Flora didn't like explaining, _or_ experiencing, their whereabouts.

"I don't like monitoring," she sighed, forlorn and bored. "And I'm a bit nervous, and I keep thinking we're going to get caught."

"There's barely any activity here, Flora. The only people we've seen were two janitors, one office lady who'd left something behind at her desk, and we've only seen Leopold on screen twice, and he was half hidden, sitting at a desk looking through documents. No one else comes out here, and it's after work hours anyway." He rubbed his eyes and gave the televisions one last glance, the black and white images slowly flicking as different cameras transmitted feedback. "I'm hungry, let's feed the birds and head back home. Rosa's supposed to be making something good, so I want to get back while it's still hot!"

The bus ride was bumpier than usual, and Luke felt more nauseated than hungry by the time they returned to the flat. He hid Carbite in his room and gave the bird adequate food to keep it busy while he would be at the table, picking at his own dinner.

The Professor had only been gone for a couple of days, but it already felt like a week in Luke's mind. The children loved Rosa dearly; she was like a grandmother, what with all the cookies, hugs, and light scolding she gave them. It was rather touching, really, the lengths she went to in order to help out their dearest professor. But there was no substitute for Professor Layton's conversation, and they'd gotten used to Laura's sarcasm to the point where it was just plain odd not having her throwing around taunts and pithy comebacks as if to knock off the trademark top hat. At the very least, Rosa baked for them daily, they had a bit more leeway with bedtime (not to mention the slacking off with their studies), and she promised to make the holidays good for them, but…

"Luke, you haven't taken a bite of your food," the old caretaker said with a twinge of worry. The boy poked at a piece of soggy cabbage with the prongs of his fork as she eyed him over her glass. "Have you come down with something?"

"No."

"Are you upset?"

"I'm fine, Rosa, really…"

"I think he misses the Professor," Flora spoke up, picking up her plate and heading towards the kitchen. "It's odd, with him gone."

"Oh indeed, I was wondering if you were merely sick with worry," Rosa chuckled, her soft and wrinkled cheeks stretching with her weary smile. "Luke, boy, he'll be back before you know it. I thought my Christmas cookies would take your mind off things, but I suppose that's not the case…"

"Well, cookies might help a bit—"

"Oh, no, Flora and I will do just fine with this plate of cookies, won't we, Flora?"

"No, no, I—!"

"Luke's much too sad to eat, Flora, we'll just have to enjoy by ourselves. Father Christmas just might skip this residence this year, Luke's much too depressed…"

The boy jumped up and snagged a few of the brown, frosted discs from the platter before Rosa returned it to the kitchen. "I'm fine enough for cookies! I'm always fine enough for cookies!"

The two females laughed heartily as Luke stuffed the rest of a stocking and a broken Christmas angel into his mouth, completely forgetting about the Professor's absence, at least for the moment.

Later that evening, the phone rang.

"Luke, Flora, the phone is for you!" Rosa called, a wrinkled hand cupped over the mouth piece. The children ran into the living room and Luke snatched the receiver quickly, leaving Flora with a grumpy frown.

"Hello, Professor! Are you having fun in America?!" he yelled, toothy grin split across his face. Layton laughed from the other side of the line, wondering how the boy knew it was him. "I just knew, Professor. Who else would call?"

For a few moments, Luke recalled their findings at Petrolite, none of which impressed Layton much. It was rather boring and idle talk in the end. After handing the phone to Flora, Luke waited for the conversation to finish, and then walked away sadly, wishing Rosa a good night, and continuing to wish for Layton and Laura's quick return.

The same telephone ritual happened for the next couple of days, recounting the days' events, the Professor sharing different oddities about the States, Laura quipping in the background about how miserable and difficult it was to find 'intelligent conversation,' and how the Professor wasn't helping. It made the boy eventually succumb to jealousy, for he missed it all greatly, and he started to let Flora take the calls rather than him. The fact he was trapped in England while the Professor got to explore and solve mysteries and puzzles with Laura made him feel excruciatingly left out. It was almost insufferable, and he wasn't sure if he was angrier at _them_, or at himself for falling to such lows.

So Flora got the phone to herself after Luke would speak first, say the pleasantries, hand the device over to the quivering girl. He was sure she enjoyed delivering the daily minutes (which he was sure didn't include the descriptive fact that their job was truly worthless). And then he would sulk out of the living room, scrape his stockings against the carpet, shock himself on the bedroom doorknob, and leave Flora and Rosa to do as they pleased once the phone clicked, back home on its base.

He lay in bed one evening, stroking Carbite's feathered head, listening to the bird's grinding purr while waiting for Rosa to announce the call. Flora was most likely in the living room, tucked into the couch pillows, practicing cross-stitch while glancing here and there at the television. The older lady liked to catch programs in the evening, and Flora had been keeping her company. Either way, one of them would hear the phone and answer it. As for the boy, he much more preferred books and the quiet of his room. So now, he waited alone, as the minutes ticked away.

And when Luke looked at the clock again, he found that _hours _had actually ticked away. It was already morning. When he asked Flora and Rosa the next morning, they told him that they hadn't taken any calls. It seemed strange, but Luke figured that the Professor was only busy. It could have passed as a fluke once, but when it happened two more times, he became anxious. As much as he'd been bitter about the nightly conversations, he was worried now, and he began regretting his lack of thankfulness, taking the talk for granted… It was quite unlike the Professor to forget important things, and _very_ unlike him to forget multiple times. He was failing to call home.

Professor Layton was failing to remember him.

* * *

When the Professor told Laura that she never awoke until the following afternoon, she became irate, then visibly troubled.

"I'm…not the sort to just fall asleep like that. A slice of death, a slice of death, sleep is a _slice of death_."

"You dropped like an anchor, and didn't stir. At all."

"Lovely. Just lovely. And I have a meeting in _one hour_." She tossed things about, a toothbrush hanging lopsidedly from frothy lips as she got herself ready.

"I didn't notice it, but once you'd mentioned your fatigue, I felt the same sensation, almost as if I'd had someone mentally turn a switch in my mind," the Professor mused from the comforts of his bed. He sat in warm flannels while his hat sat on the night stand, a silent onlooker. "Do you think you'll make it to your meeting?"

"I'll make it. _Late_."

"Should you call ahead?"

"Look, all you need to worry yourself about is what those stupid building designs mean, and what sort of Yankee illness makes you feel like you've been drugged into oblivion. Search around town. I never took note of the buildings there. Maybe they have the same architecture?" Roughly, she pulled on her lab coat and earmuffs. "And maybe someone knows the answer we both want: _why_."

He nodded, and opened his mouth to comment, but she'd already waved and flown through the door.

That happened a few more times, over the next three days. Her presence was seldom, and their conversation even more so.

Bundled up and protected against the chill, the Professor would walk outside into the heart of Stabilnon, carrying around an agenda that became more burdensome as the days went by. Sure enough, the buildings of downtown had fortified bases, just like the houses; even the farm buildings had the same sturdy foundation, but of a different fashion than the homes. They were less architecturally pleasing, more utilitarian than aesthetic, and they all appeared different, unlike the cloned foundations of the houses.

"I wonder…"

'_If these buildings and structures are older than the residential homes, perhaps there weren't any building codes or regulations to go by when they were built. The way the foundations were laid—some with brick, others with heavy stone, though all with some sort of haphazard framework—seem to vary, as the building designs themselves vary. This is telling, though, since the reason for such a sturdy base should be the same through time: they required such engineering early in the town's history, and the reason still holds when houses are built today since they have similar engineering…_

'_Now to find out why_. _If only I could find out why!_'

There finally came a break in Laura's work, and she spent more time around their hotel. Her demeanor had changed, and she was often fatigued and dragging. While this perturbed Layton a bit, he welcomed her dwindling snark and pompous comments, as it allowed her to be more mentally open rather than protective. Her battlements were becoming lax, and she smiled a lot more. Albeit, it was more of a drunken grin, rather than a smile. And now, with her return to their investigation, the Professor realized something he didn't dare admit aloud: he felt more motivated with her back in the picture, even with her lack of energy.

"What do you mean no one would talk to you again?" Laura sat, chewing her food slowly and with dark, tired eyes. But still she sat, listening. She would much rather end the day already, and with _sleep_ rather than early dinner, but she concluded that food was a bit essential. Her brow knit, she now was curious as the Professor had just recounted his experiences of that day.

"I mean, I tried to speak with several townsfolk, this time from the northwest portion of the city, and as soon as I started addressing my observations of the architecture, they would either speak very cryptically, or they would find a reason to end the conversation. '_Having to feed the cows_' is a very common excuse around here, even if they don't _have_ any cows…"

The girl rolled her heavy eyes. "How are we to find out anything if these people are so xenophobic? Their reticence will get us nowhere. Maybe they don't like your hat."

"I'm betting that's not the case." He finished his own meal, waiting for her to break the silence. No avail. "Do you have any more meetings coming up?"

"After New Year's Day. Speaking of holidays, did Luke and Flora enjoy their Christmas presents?"

"Yes, they did. Rosa opened gifts with them Christmas morning, and I spoke with them after the festivities. But I never got a chance to call for the past few days. I've just been so exhausted… By the time the afternoon rolls around, I've been out about in town, and with the time difference, calling in the evening _here_ would mean waking them all in the early morning back home in London."

"Hopefully they had a decent Boxing Day as well. Rosa most likely made the holidays fun, correct?'

"As much as she could, I'm sure," Layton affirmed, nodding.

"Hmm. So, on Luke and Flora's front, any news?'

"Still nothing. Leopold looks at books occasionally, and that's about it, according to Luke."

"What sort of books?"

"Impossible to tell from the screens, apparently."

As if she'd just been threatened, the girl snarled between sips of water. "Most likely_ the_ Book. I wish I knew how he was using it, for what end. Seems a bit stupid to pour over a book like that with no purpose, so… There must be some reason." Ruminating solemnly, she eyeballed the room and judged. "Perhaps no more about this here. I still don't trust anyone."

"Fair enough."

After finishing dinner, the Professor walked beside her as they exited the café, leaving behind a rather busy group. And while the other customers were occupied with their own meals and engaged in their own conversations, talking openly about their covert mission seemed callow.

Layton made towards the staircase (although the elevator looked more inviting), but turned as Laura grabbed his shirtsleeve.

"Let's go outside, there's something peculiar I noticed today on my walk back from the coast," she spoke softly, guiding him towards the front door. He walked with her naturally, sans protest, and also sans winter coat. But it was the last thing he wanted, to have someone wondering why they were arguing about a venture into the freezing weather.

Unfazed, Laura led him down a block towards the town center, sticking to the sidewalk and then turning right down another walkway. It was one that only had a few store fronts, but they were all quite established, beautiful stores. Each had its own awning and unique signage, doing its best to lure in customers. As the two walked, to their left was a raised bed of dirt, surrounded by cement walls. The long stone-lined rectangle spanned the length of the sidewalk, separating the walking path from the road. It would have been home to dozens of flowers if it was another season, but now, at intervals, there were only some sort of needled conifer trees planted, cold yet still a shiny green in the dying light of the sun.

It was here the girl stopped, fresh snow clinging to her thick shoe heels.

"Notice anything?"

The Professor looked around. All he could note was the dead silence, falling snow, and the bumps that were covering his skin. His back muscles hurt as he shivered, but it was almost _too_ cold for him to bother with the pain. He only wanted the indoors. _Badly_.

"You might cut to the chase, Laura," he grumbled, rubbing his arms frantically. "It's rather chilly…"

"Fine." She pointed to the awnings of the stores, then to the trees. "Answer this: what has accumulated here today—quite a _copious_ accumulation, I might add—all around us, yet doesn't seem to be settling on anything angled, or anything of height?"

At this point, Layton wasn't keen on solving puzzles, as the snow was falling quite heavily. The fat flakes kept melting into his cheeks, burning them and leaving behind several wet patches that began icing over. "Well, by _accumulation_ I'm assuming you mean snow, but your point is flying over my head, so it seems."

"Rather, _off_ your head. On my way to my meeting, it began snowing quite a bit, much as it is now. It should have accumulated naturally on all of these awnings, on all of the trees. I stepped inside a store to grab a light meal, and it took about twenty minutes total. I come out to find the snow all slid off the awnings, which should have sagged a bit and held the snow, if you'll look at the make of these contraptions…" She walked closer to the stores and pointed indiscriminately at the striped awning fabric. "I also had found that these trees, which should have no problem supporting a collection of snow, were as bare and as empty and devoid of the white stuff as if it wasn't snowing at all. Flecks here and there, but no accumulation."

"So, you're saying…what exactly?"

"It struck me as odd, but I was already bridled to my daily duties, so I went to my meeting as scheduled. When I walked back, it was the same scene, but I went walking around a bit longer, looking at other parts of the city. No snow collects _anywhere_ unless it's on a completely flat surface! No rooftops, no trees, no awnings. Nothing." She held up a hand when Layton began to speak. "I already thought of heated surfaces, not allowing the snow to do anything but melt once it hits, but I watched the flakes for a bit. Watched them gather. There was no melting when it hit a surface, it would accumulate a bit and then…swoop! It would slide down in little avalanches from roofs, or just plop over in small chunks from tree branches. Tree branches, especially heavily needled evergreens, should hold snow just fine. It's as if an invisible person is pushing the snow off with his broom!"

He looked at her with an air of doubt, then scanned the area around him once more. "So if we walk about, I wonder what we'll find. I'd like to see for myself…"

Laura guided him up and down a couple of blocks quickly, waving her arms around at all the places she mentioned. Rooftops were black and bare, trees were clean. Any and all angled and open surfaces that would normally allow snow to collect were empty. Piles of the fallen snow lay beneath all of these objects. Recently shoveled sidewalks were cleaned everywhere except for the places that were splattered with the fresh snow that had slid from awnings or fell from signs, as if some compulsive person went around the town and pushed the stuff off of everything. Little frozen snow pebbles were strewn at their feet; having fallen from such heights the snow literally exploded against the cement time and time again and had formed powdery stars where it hit the ground. In some areas it formed a soft pile, one that got larger and larger as the precipitation continued to fall from above. Underneath trees, misshapen clumps of gray-white snow looked like mini craggy mountain ranges that circled around the perimeter of the branches where the snow had fallen.

Completely stumped, Layton let his arms fall to his sides. "I…don't' really know what to make of it. It's as if the snow here is slick and won't collect. But," he reached down and swiped some snow from a nearby pile, studying it quickly in his red hands before dusting it over the sidewalk, "it's as normal as any snow I've seen. It doesn't appear to have any difference from any other snow."

"I know. It doesn't make any sense. Watch! It's falling as we speak." Sure enough, the minimal amount that had collected had already dropped off trees or skied down roof shingles and awnings.

"What in the world…"

"Just an observation. Keep it in mind when you're interrogating the townsfolk. I can't make heads of tails of it."

They walked back in silence, both trying to shatter whatever blockade that was keeping the answer from their minds. The phenomenon was strange and was actually quite startling. It was as if the gravity was so strong here in this particular place that it forced everything to fall, fall…continue falling, even off of things that typically would have enough friction to keep snow in place.

When they reached the comforts of their room, the Professor and Laura both pulled on thick pajamas, doing their best to keep the cold out. They remained silent, and found themselves brainstorming alone in their beds. It wasn't until a quarter of an hour later that the Professor broke the quiet, a warm knife through the cold air.

"Well, I'm lost. I have no conclusion, and I have little to work with," he said, his legs over the edge of the bed. He faced her, shook his head, and sighed like a disappointed father, none too pleased with his dullard brainchild. "It may help to come back to this later. I just might go demand answers from the local historian. He wasn't helpful the other day, but the squeaky wheel gets the grease, as the saying goes."

'_Or the loudest duck gets shot_,' Laura thought angrily, albeit quietly. '_We're getting nothing solved, and as foreigners, I'm not too interested in making enemies of anyone here by poking and prodding where we aren't wanted…_'

The next few minutes were spent listening to the television channels switch, until the Professor finally settled on something. Laura, still thinking about the strange discovery, finally decided to give her brain a rest as well and started to watch.

"This is the most monotonous programme I've ever seen," she complained. "Turn it to something more interesting, or else I'll drift off. My brain already hurts."

"Just come sit over here. It's too difficult to talk to you over there." He said it so plainly that Laura had to reprocess the sentence three times.

"What?"

He leaned forward from his mountain of pillows and craned his neck to get a better look at her. "Come over here. Friends don't sit so far away from each other."

"I'm not…sitting by you!" she exclaimed, dumbstruck. Her sheets fluttered as she dove underneath them, finalizing her arrangements. "What's your problem? That's _your_ bed! I'm not getting your germs on me."

"Oh, now it's talk of germs. That's why you made the effort to change the sheets on my bed back at the flat, hmm?"

"You…you can't prove that."

"Ah, but I noticed they were never changed, when I gave you a perfectly clean, new set of linens. It's enough proof for myself. You don't mind my germs. Germs indeed…"

He had her there. She never did change the sheets, preferring to keep them just as the Professor last left them. And now that it was in the open, she felt not only exposed and embarrassed, but frustrated he was stinging her with it.

"I….I don't understand how you go from contemplative and serious, to a lazy and rude annoyance… You're supposed to be the genius detective."

"Well, because it hurts to think right now, and you've been gone. We haven't had a chance to unwind, and answers to these things will not come if we push our heads to the breaking point. Anyone with sense knows the mind can only tolerate so much, and I don't know about you, but I've been thinking nonstop about what all these clues could possibly mean. _Additionally_, I worry about Luke and Flora. It's instinct. I can't help it." He stopped and waited. Her silence was enough. "Is it safe to assume that your silence is a resounding '_yes_' of agreement?"

Several grouchy and huffy mumblings later, Laura perched herself carefully next to her former professor, feeling both exhilarated and nervous (as well as the unfailing 'irritated'). Her knees held tightly to her chest, she was careful not to let any part of herself touch him. "I hate you."

"Yes, yes, I know. But let's just forget that for now."

In all honesty, he didn't know what he was trying to do. Something inside him longed for the companionship. The calm atmosphere now, when it had been her absence and the tense pressure of finding answers to questions he didn't completely understand. He might have seemed brash, but it's what he felt was appropriate.

It wasn't long before the awkwardness wore off, and the girl to his side fell fast asleep, slouched and sprawled against a few loose pillows.

"Without fail," he chuckled, gazing upon her still facial features. She was too high-strung to look peaceful, even while sleeping, but she was certainly more at ease.

With her resting, he could think again. She was in quiet slumber, and her well-being was one of the many things on his mind. Being asleep, he knew where she was, what she was doing. Now, she was the safest, next to him, mind resetting.

'_The odd structural engineering…_

_ 'The strange actions of the snow…_

_ 'The physics of this town are off. Something is amiss, and these people know something. Even with everything I know, all of the knowledge I possess, I can come up with nothing, even after days and days of thinking about it! I've poured over maps, I've looked into history books… There is no reasoning for the reinforced buildings, and now there's the snow falling. It most _certainly_ doesn't correlate to the tiredness. None of it adds up. None of it…_

_ 'Leopold is doing nothing noteworthy, yet there's that Book…what is he doing with it?!_

_ 'And I still don't know what Laura is going on about. This whole time, what is truly on her mind…?'_

The black of sleep threatened to take him, but he shot up and out of bed. He looked at the clock.

"It's ten at night back home… I must call Luke…"

The buttons mashed underneath his fingers, and he groggily stood next to the end table, phone to his ear. Rosa answered, and she handed it off. Half expecting Flora's voice, he was surprised to hear Luke's.

"Ah, Luke, my boy. You hadn't been near the phone the last couple of times I called. I wondered if you'd come down with fever," Layton chortled.

"Professor! You didn't forget after all!" Luke shouted into the receiver. He giggled and said _I knew he wouldn't forget us!_ several times before calming himself to listen.

"I'm truly sorry about my absence, Luke," he apologized, guilt gnawing at him. "I'm not sure what's come over me, but Laura and I both have been exceedingly tired, even when we don't do much of anything. I'm glad you answered, it's one time I'm glad you weren't in bed. I—what? You don't have a bedtime?! You mean—Rosa let you stay up until _what time?!_" The Professor removed his top hat, placed it on the night stand and rubbed his forehead. "No matter, I'll have a word with Rosa later. And no, no, don't worry, it's not a sickness or anything serious like that. We've just been very tired…"

Safe behind her closed eyelids, Laura pretended to be sleeping while she listened to the one-sided conversation, although she thought she could infer what Luke was saying on the other end. It seemed that Luke and Flora hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary at Petrolite, except that _nobody_ was at the facility for that entire day.

"You stayed that long and no one was around?" she heard Layton ask, almost in disbelief. "It seems odd that no one came by to work, wouldn't you say so?"

"It's true," the boy said with a bored sigh. "Most boring day there yet. I mostly just go to feed the parrots. Poor little guys, no one talks to them except for Flora and I. Well, Flora gets frightened so it's usually just me…"

"I'm glad you're taking good care of Flora, Luke. You're really becoming a true little gentleman."

"Whatever you say, Professor." There was a five second pause. "I got to thinking today, Professor…"

"Hmm?"

"I got to spend a lot of time with the birds today. Carbite was hopping around and having fun so we stuck around a bit longer than usual, and no one was around so I didn't have to watch the monitors. I got to look up each bird species in my _Animal Expeditions_ book. You know, the one that tells about all the different animal species?"

"Ah, yes. And what did you get to thinking about?"

"Well, isn't it weird, Professor?"

"Isn't what weird?"

"Isn't it weird, Professor, about the birds? They were just taken from their homes, all over the world, yet now they're connected? They're all in the same place. They all know each other, when before, none of them knew the others at all! It's just odd how you can know life as one way, then meet somebody else, and your life is forever different." The boy paused his monologue, giggling as a loud _gwahck!_ reverberated through the phone. Layton held the phone away from his ear a moment, squinting as his eardrums recovered from the blast over the receiver.

"Ouch, Carbite…"

Luke laughed. "I wish I could see into their pasts and find out about their histories!" the boy said, almost wistfully. "Wouldn't that be cool, Professor? How it all connects, you know? Oh well, it's beyond that now. I bet they miss their homes. Say, do you miss home, Professor? You've been gone for a while now…"

'_I bet they miss their home…_'

_How it all connects….their pasts…I bet they miss their home…find out about their histories_…

_Wouldn't that be cool, Professor? Wouldn't that be cool?_

_HOW IT ALL CONNECTS_.

"Are you there Professor…?" Luke squeaked, the third time without a response.

"_THAT'S IT!_"

Like a firework, Laura shot up from feigned slumber and was now sitting vertically upright, her eyes pinning on the Professor. She glared at his sudden outburst, her freight brewing fury as her heart raced. "What in the world is wrong with you?!"

His laugh was low, but genuine; it would have almost been contagious if it didn't sound crazed. "How could I have been so blind… Isn't it obvious? Oh, good Heavens, isn't it obvious! All this time, right under my nose, in my grasp! The method, yes, the method, right _here_…Have I really been so foolish, my vision so _clouded_ to not realize the tools at my disposal?!"

A muffled voice struggled out of the receiver. "P-Professor? Are you okay?"

"Oh, so sorry, my dear boy, I really must be going, was there anything—?" He nodded against the phone, held tightly against his ear. "Nothing? Well, I'll call you again tomorrow, please await my call. I should have good news. And of _course_ I miss home. I have no tea pot here, and I miss you and Flora terribly. Keep Flora cheered up, and do your best to help out Rosa. That's my boy. Yes, good bye now."

The phone was sat on the base with a click. Laura's impatience was building, coming to a head as Layton turned and beamed at her. There was no mirror image for him to be met with, as her grimace was one contorted with disbelief and rage. "And?!"

"Yes, I'll have to test it later, I'll definitely have to look into this…I have so many questions that need answers!" Tip toeing from one side to the other, he roved the room without a specific reason, and his smile was almost stupid, Laura thought. Toothy and too happy for her liking, as his hands tossed his clothing haphazardly into his suitcase. She cringed; those clothes should have been folded properly.

"Tell me, have you solved it? Have you solved _anything_?" came her nervous voice, trying to cover brooked frustration. "What do you know? What did Luke say?"

"I know one thing," he chuckled, smiling still. "One thing. The boy has helped tremendously. I can't believe I was so…misguided, that I couldn't see it!"

Now she was off the bed, starting to walk over to him. "Damn it all, Hershel, what is it?! Spit it out already!"

"Now where did I put it…"

Was he ignoring her? The girl thought so, as something snapped and ricocheted in her brain. She lunged at him, grabbing him by the lapels of his flannel shirt. She had to know. His grin waned slightly as he tried to look down at her. Her face was too close to see clearly.

"Tell me what in blazes you know, you insipid, blithering old man!" she spat, her eyes wild. She was dying for an answer, and his withholding of information was literally making her heart boom in the confines of her chest, the anticipation so strong it was corporeal. "_Can you put an end to this_? What are you babbling about?!"

The cool, chiding retort, something he was becoming better at: "You're _very_ impatient, Miss Haris."

Her grip on his pajamas loosened and Laura let her arms go slack. It was outrageous! Her eyes screamed disbelief, even if her mouth was as still and silent as stone. Composed and unfazed, Professor Layton tossed his head side to side, stretching his neck.

"That's…not even fair, you can't shout that out, and not tell me what you're thinking! This is _my_ problem, I have a right to know," the words came from her mouth, strangled, almost unsure of themselves. "You're making me worry, and—"

"You're done worrying, my dear. This case is mine, from here on out." His hand found its way to her head, rummaging deft fingers through strands of hair. He got a sort of pleasure from the feeling, silky and—dare he say it—familiar. It was more of a dare to admit that he liked it. She attempted a protest, but he forced her to swallow her words. "You've been a lovely assistant. You've done more than enough, and now you're job is done."

Thoroughly disgusted, Laura's face challenged the most sweltering summer to curdle milk faster than her. "Your…your _what_?!" she hacked. "_Lovely assistant_?!"

"Surprise!"

Out emerged two tickets, from where, Laura didn't see. Could have been his pocket, could have been his ears for all she knew; she was too confused, too thrown, her brain devoured by the wolves. First an epiphany, then the Professor's strange celebratory behavior, and then the coup de grace: _l.o.v.e.l.y. a.s.s.i.s.t.a.n.t._

"Don't look so confused; it doesn't fit your personality," he said smugly. "Thought you'd appreciate a little side holiday to the bitter north. How does New Years in Chicago sound? What, it's not the first time I offered you a ticket. I thought you'd have known how this works…"

"This isn't some fun trip, we discussed this!" Laura cried, almost in tears. The change in topics was making her blood boil, and her brain couldn't keep up. She wasn't good at deviating from tasks, jumping from topic to topic like hopping rocks across a creek. Heaven knew she'd rather sit on the biggest boulder in the middle of the stream, tackling the rest of the way contemplatively. Or, in this case, just drown and to hell with it.

'_You know my brain doesn't work this way…I need the answers and I need them placed in front of me! Black and white!_'

"Hershel, we don't have the _luxury_ of travel right now." Her emphasis was dire, but her partner's face in hysterics. Out of character, but mildly mad all the same.

"My dear Laurie, you really _must_ learn to have some fun once in a while. Even someone as 'blithering' and 'insipid' as myself knows this." Pretending to have not seen her sheepish grin (it was subtle, but he caught it), he grabbed his bag, motioning for her to do the same to her own luggage. "Holidays should be celebrated, even if the fate of the world is bleak."

"No, no, no, no! You've gone _mad_! Completely and utterly mad! Stop hiding things and just tell me—"

"Now, we'll be off to the 'Windy City' as they call it, and back before you know it. And I don't want to hear another word about it."

That was the end of it. Like a child, some obnoxious brat, she'd been essentially parented. It was all she could do to slump against her bed, face in her hands. " Let me guess, you had already—"

"—planned this? Yes. I'm a smart boy. Merry Christmas."

Thinking it over (which amounted to giving in at this point), Laura accepted defeat and shook her head, deciding to do as was told. In minutes, her things were collected, but she couldn't hold in a protest. Giving in was one thing; doing it quietly was _quite_ another. "I'm not a child like Luke and Flora! Don't tell me what to do so confidently! I don't appreciate being a ragdoll for you to just toss around and do with as you please! You realize what we're here for, and yet…"

Nodding and _yes, of course_-ing her multiple times, Professor Layton grabbed his travel bag, pulled on his coat, and couldn't care less about the fact he and she were still in pajamas. He wouldn't have cared even if he was only in underwear. He had answers, and those he didn't have, he could find them, at some point…

'_Yes, finally I can find them…answers…_'

And it didn't hurt that Laura was radiant when riled.

* * *

**END.**

**Derp. Review, and go cry because it was awful.**


	33. CH 33: ENGLISHMAN IN CHICAGO (ARRIVAL)

**Oh, hi.**

**Welcome to chapter 33. It originally was going to be one giant chapter, but the mood broke halfway through, so I decided to make it into chapters 33 and 34. Maybe it's better, because I was already approaching 9,000 words here…**

**I originally wanted the Professor and Laura to journey to New York, but I realized I know nothing about the place. I could have researched and made it all up, but…you know, I know and love Chicago more, so that's what it changed into.**

**After this chapter, there will be one more brief chapter focusing on Laura and Layton, and the rest goes into major story changing events. We're moving out of the middle portion and into the final stretch. So if you're bored, you won't be, very soon.**

**I apologize again for my absence. I've been very very busy at work, and I now manage a portion of a warehouse for a scrub/nurse and doctor uniform company. It's…stressful, as we supply scrubs nationwide, and in huge volumes. But I listen to Layton and Itou Kanako music during the day and think of new developments for my stories all the time…Haha.**

**I WHOLLY APPRECIATE THOSE WHO REVIEW, INCLUDING GUEST REVIEWERS. While I wish the guests had accounts so I can reply back, I still appreciate your time and thoughtfulness. I ENCOURAGE YOU ALL TO EMULATE THAT. I really do love reviews and to know my readers are actually there! So please, even if just a small blurb, say something! And I DO accept critiques if they are intelligently written…**

**Reinventing gluten-free baking,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 33: ENGLISHMAN IN ****CHICAGO (ARRIVAL)**

London was too big and Painswick was too small.

Laura wanted to get lost in the crowd, for the sole purpose of no one being able to pay her any mind. So, a large population wasn't so bad in that regard. But she didn't want to be suffocated and poked and prodded while merely visiting the grocery either, so perhaps it really _was _as bad as she originally thought.

London was out of the question.

And when it was the opposite—smaller population, not having her own carbon dioxide shoved back into her nostrils because her face was smashed between someone's shoulder blades—everyone knew everyone, down to the last and latest gossip, and that was just too much social pressure.

Little villages, like Painswick, were out too.

Now that things around her had settled down, the brooding girl had time to think, and now that she thought about it, Chicago might be a bit too much, but… Gripping the handles of her plane seat, she realized it too late. Off and on, in and out anger was all she'd been experiencing and now, it was the brass tacks of the Professor's surprise that made her squirm.

"Chicago, why Chicago. Why _anywhere_? What's your gain?" she started, first as a groan, then morphing into a hiss; her emotions transitioned into different phases as the ride continued, and her current expression was nothing short of livid. Any time she'd finally relax, it was only a matter of minutes before the feelings would storm across her features once more, a tempest across the ocean. "This is conducive to nothing. Such a waste of _time, _such a waste of _money_…waste of _life_, basically."

"I can't quite decide what I enjoy more: a conversation while you're composed, or mercilessly pestering you whilst incensed. It's still up for debate. I'll let you know the verdict in a while." Top hat falling down over closed eyes, Layton leaned back as much as he was allotted space to move. Laura held back the feeling of wanting to grate her knuckles across the part of his face still visible—the ridiculing, smiling part.

"Inconceivable. You are _no_ gentleman."

"Any other lady would quite enjoy the gift of travel, so why are you so upset?"

"And any other _gentleman_ would not partake in my suffering."

His snickering got caught in his throat and he coughed lightly. "It's '_suffering_' now? Hmm…a ha ha ha."

"I'm. Not. On. Holiday." If ears smoked, she might have been arrested for breaking flight rules. "_We're not on holiday_."

He thought perhaps the third time might be the charm; after all, he'd already tried twice to validate his cause. "It's two days, two nights, I told you. We'll settle in, do a bit of leisurely sightseeing, rest up, go to a few sites tomorrow, and welcome the new year at night. You'll be well fed, and you have nothing to bother about. It's all been taken care of. And then on the afternoon of January 1st, we'll be back to puzzles and mysterious moguls back in Stabilnon—"

"—which reminds me," she cut him off abruptly, "can you please inform me of what you know exactly? You got all excited back at the hotel, and now you're just keeping information to yourself. Not exactly the fairest thing…"

"Hmm, I'll let you know as soon as I'm _certain_."

"How about you stop withholding information and just be honest with me?" Her eyes picked at him, but they didn't break him.

"I don't want to appear secretive, but in a way, I need to research my…findings. And it's a bit early to celebrate…"

"Oh! And yelling on the phone, all riled up with Luke isn't 'early celebration'?"

He was quiet as he thought a moment, guilty as charged. "I apologize for showing such excessive mirth at that time, but…you really must wait. Trust me. You need to go about your living, and be yourself. It may serve us better that you function normally. You'll have a clearer mind that way, you won't be biased, and your mind won't settle on a conclusion."

"Are you saying I'm not capable of separating fact from speculation?" she growled, her voice bordering on demonic. The Professor tried to think of an excuse before feeling the burn of her smoldering eyes.

"Listen, it's not that at all. _One _of us needs to keep a clear mind, and since you're the one dealing with Leopold, you need to analyze his every move without jumping to an assumption, an end. Since you won't have _any_ information to even involuntarily assist in coming to a hypothesis..." It must have been a large enough deluge of logic as he felt her anger dissipate, her eyes now only warm with silent thoughts. "Do you understand?"

"…yes. Doesn't mean I like it."

"Before you know it, we'll be back in London. The least you can do is enjoy yourself now. I daresay you deserve it. And perhaps I deserve it as well, for helping you out?" He casually lifted his hat and gave an almost imperceptible wink.

No luck, and no cigar.

"_Helping me out_? Ludicrous. Abso_lutely_ ludicrous…" And that's all she said.

Professor Layton had it all planned, down to the minutest of details. From touch down to departure, everything had been prepared carefully and precisely to make the most of their limited adventure. Although admittedly uncharacteristic of him, the idea of breaking away from the investigation struck him early on, something enjoyable to fantasize about while on the flight from London. But the follow-through didn't come to fruition until he was journeying through cobbled streets in Stabilnon. Somehow, his mind was abnormally sluggish, and he was having a harder than usual time talking himself out of fleeting thoughts and wanton wishes. His wallet might not have liked it (especially the financial fact that securing two seats on a flight—in the very midst of the holiday season—was enough to force a man of average budget to dine on beans for half a year) but…he'd bought the tickets when Laura was away engineering, and the deed was done. Regardless of the occasional trollish grunts seething from the passenger next to him, he was glad he arranged the thing.

O'Hare International Airport, an adventure all on its own, somehow allowed Laura the luxury of relaxation, and she practiced a long silence while gazing around thoughtfully. They made their way along bright tiled floors with the rest of the crowd. The smells of dozens of baked goods and freshly prepared meals spread as quickly as the people. It was a bit difficult to decipher which smelled the best: cinnamon and chocolate sweets from one side of the thoroughfare, or the spicy and savory lunches being served on the other. Although the Professor thought she'd grow more irate with the hustle and bustle, Laura instead grew talkative, smiling and pointing, neon lights and flashy departure signs reflecting in her eyes like an awe-struck child. The conversation was for the first time personable, no words or thoughts of investigations or oil rigs (or angry reprimanding) in sight.

"People are so funny, aren't they?" Laura giggled, humming to herself as she pulled her suitcase along. "That one's about four times my girth, and his friend about three times, and both of them are whining about that little bakery kiosk being closed! They might stand to lose some…"

"That's hardly polite. You're rather bold," Professor Layton said with a chiding tone, yet he couldn't suppress a smile. "Come, let's find the train. It has frequent departures, but I'd like to catch the next one if possible."

"Oh my! Trains, planes, automobiles. I quite like this bit of the trip."

Standing on the platform was a chilly experience, one spent pulling up their coats around their necks, blowing clouds of steam into the air and watching them dissipate into nothingness. Unconsciously they stood closer to each other, the prospect of warmth stronger than old feuds or awkward feelings between them. Just when their joints ached too much to properly bend, finally, the metallic, rickety clack of the intercity train careened off of every hard surface as the machine screeched to a stop. The doors slid open and a few people got out, but more rushed to get on, each passenger hungrier than the next to find a much-coveted seat. The Professor and Laura hadn't noticed how many were standing on the platform along with them but they now knew, as they instead had to fight to board, and then only to stand.

Layton held the cold handle bar and positioned Laura in front of him so she would have less of a chance of falling.

"You're suffocating me, you dolt," she puffed angrily, glaring up at him with dark eyes. "I can't see anything but your stupid coat buttons and your luggage is on my foot! You're too close."

"The ride won't be smooth, and I don't want you falling. You're safer this way."

"What do I look like, an invalid? I can stand and hold the bar just fine…"

"You're a lady, and it's my duty to keep you safe. The closer you are, the easier I can keep you steady." He smiled at her, which softened her expression. "There was a time when you wouldn't have minded this proximity."

"And…you call _me_ bold," her voice stammered, and she stared down at a brass button as the train lurched forward. He was right: the thing was very bumpy, and each rise and fall of the track—even if it was slight—made the ride more like a children's roller coaster. As small as it was, she saw her reflection in the round coat button, and she tried hiding her smile.

She'd started to doze off to the drone of the overhead intercom voice announcing each stop, Each time that the doors would open and close: _This is Montrose, this is Cumberland…Doors opening, doors closing…_ They continued to stand until the voice broadcast the next stop as "_Doors open on the right at Clark and Lake_."

"Our stop," Layton whispered, and it was only then that she noticed his arm loosely draped about her left hip, separating her from a new passenger who'd sardined his way into the crowded car. Skin prickling, she wanted to slap the Professor, but she weighed what was worse: his touch, or the stranger's. She glanced up to give him a look, but he was too busy steadying himself for the breaking of the train, and in a flurry of men, women, and children, they exited the train.

The platform was dim, the underground lighting giving the former passengers enough light to walk safely down the pathway. As they walked, the train zoomed off to its next stop, and the warm air rushed past them, sending Laura's hair flying messily about her shoulders. Up a flight of stairs, through the turnstyle, all while ignoring the dirty and dingy walls and floors, they were finally at ground level. They'd entered a lobby of some sort, its ceiling high above them, windows extending from the ground to the very top. The reflective floors were much cleaner and shinier than the dank, gray mausoleum of a subway below. In the lobby space, small eateries dotted the perimeter, a fair share of Drink 'n Donuts, Jungle Juice, and other chain restaurants that Laura knew from home, but never frequented. Their bright colors were quite vivid against the dark décor marble of the room. A slow-moving flow of people spotted and hurried towards the food and drink.

And the busy outdoors, visible from the tall windows, contrasted it all with excited shoppers, walking from the left and right, bags and smiles in tow. The Professor saw Laura shy away slightly, all traces of excitement fading into reluctance.

"It's quite alright, Laura. You're with me," he said confidently.

"Um, that's what I'm worried about." Her voice was dull and drained.

"Come now, we'll keep to ourselves, and all will be well. Do you not trust me?"

It only took a moment—a surprising moment—and she pushed past him, taking the lead. "Well… I might as well make the most of it, hmm?"

"Er…are you alright? You just looked like—"

"Yes, let's go. I'm too tired to grumble and think of pithy comebacks anyway." She started towards the glass doors. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

Layton's planning made short work of finding their hotel, only a few blocks away. Fighting through lively crowds and scissor-like wind was the toughest part. Laura tugged and pulled on her hat endlessly to keep it secure against her head, luggage wheels whirring and grinding from behind as they walked. The Professor merely led the way a few paces ahead, as debonair as he would have been in London. He crossed streets and dodged the crowd effortlessly, and still managed to keep a pace comfortable enough for his company, who was already worrying about how she'd keep up with such a crowd current.

Now, as the crowd diminished, Laura looked around with open eyes, comfort low, but curiosity high. These strange people of all types—the wealthy with their fuzzy, long trench coats and handbags worth half of a small country's coffers; the homeless strewn about in cold vestibules, almost drowning in dirty blankets; the tourists, pretending that they knew their way around _without_ a map, but were clearly lost…

'_And here I am, in their midst, foreign and small. I hear them all, I see them. My senses are fine, but my mind is numb. I don't know why I'm here, why I agreed to this…_

'_I really do have a problem on my hands, and it's like I'm on holiday! Is this a life hint, to just relax…? No, no. I have a problem to solve._

'_Aha, life hint_. _If only I'd had a lot of those, I might actually listen…_'

It'd already been several hours later when the girl finally bothered to glance at a large clock on a building overhead. Where had the time gone? She barely had time to admire their lodging; they'd dumped their luggage in the hotel room when the Professor hurried her out the door, leading them back into the traffic of downtown once more. She'd barely even had enough time to grumble (that she was being treated like herded cattle). They'd walked for blocks, slipping in and out of stores they found sufficiently interesting to browse along their trek, and Laura might have admitted that the mere shuffling about with the crowd and talking with an old friend might be pleasant enough to enjoy.

Perhaps it was a smile plastered to her face, but somehow Layton could read her as easily as a text book.

"Don't have fun, Laura. You might actually enjoy yourself," he chuckled lazily as they passed by a park sign engraved in stone. Laura was too self-conscious to even bother reading it, and she looked away, hiding her red face. It was then that she spotted the strangest and most thrilling thing she'd seen in a while. On their right, after they ambled up the ascending sidewalk, sat an ominous shiny sculpture, perhaps 20 feet high, shaped like a bean. An enormous _mirrored_ bean, reflecting the sky and the surrounding skyscrapers, as well as the gathering of people that were swarming the spectacle. Most had a camera in hand, snapping pictures and posing with friends against the mirrored backdrop. Others stood under the bean, looking up at their reflections within the concave portion of the underbelly.

"What in the _world_," Laura whispered, eyes wide and glassy. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry with delight. "It's a giant _bean_!"

"Indeed." Layton smiled as if he had expected it to appear in the middle of the park like magic.

"Well, what's it doing here? In the middle of a park?!"

She half-stumbled, half-ran towards the rounded behemoth, the Professor following. Gloved fingers splayed like fans, Laura smashed her palms against the bean, her smile watery in the mirror.

"Aha! I can't believe it. Who came up with such a thing? It's _huge_! Sculptures of pulses, what is this place…." Layton's explanation was lost, as she toured around the perimeter two, three times, her smile never faltering. She'd give the bean its space, then edge close enough to see her image, then retreat again. She was like a kitten gauging the caliber of her prey, knowing well that she couldn't handle it, but she could dream about it.

After sizing up the thing and granting her approval, both she and Layton entered the arched cave and became dizzy, staring up at their mirror counterparts underneath the bean. They appeared as stretched and distorted creatures, and even the Professor laughed heartily at their spaghetti-like images. It was the first time in a while that Laura felt completely at ease.

To her chagrin, they finally had to depart from the silver bean, bidding farewell as nothing else remained to be seen. She might have been able to stay all day, and the girl looked back over her shoulder a couple of times, shaking her head in amused disbelief.

Professor Layton rubbed his hands together. "It's amazing. I didn't think that _that_ would be the landmark to change your demeanor," he finally spoke up after signaling a taxi. "It seems you've found something interesting?"

A cab raced in front of that one that was flagged down, prompting the cut off vehicle to lay on an echoing horn blast. Laura continued the conversation with a giggle. "Well, as I said before, I suppose I have to make the best of it, and that giant bean in the middle of everything just made my day."

"I see. It's all so grueling and awful, you'll just have to grin and bear it, make the most of your time with me. And yet…you're amused most by a giant mirror bean…"

"Well…"

Once they'd entered the car and buckled up, Layton politely addressed the driver and rambled off a destination, although Laura was too busy with her thoughts to hear it. The little cab whisked off and wove daringly in and out of traffic like a wild thread on a loom.

"Your first time in Chicago?" the driver asked huskily. The voice startled the Professor a bit; it didn't match the slight figure of the young man behind the wheel. He expected something a bit softer.

"Hmm, yes, yes it is," Layton responded, grinning awkwardly from his seat in the back. He was struggling to keep his hat from grating against the roof of the interior. "We're on a small holiday for the new year."

The driver nodded his approval. Laura saw his pearl-white teeth smiling in the rear-view mirror. They looked like perfectly arranged gum tablets; she wondered if perhaps they _were_…

"Well, you'll have a nice little time there on the Pier. I'm sure you know of the main attraction?"

"Absolutely," Layton said matter of factly. He asked the driver casually about his job, whether he had any customers waiting to be picked up, or whether he merely waited on the next eager tourist to signal his service. After a brief conversation, the Professor directed his attention to the linear blur of people, buildings, and lights outside the window.

Just when Laura began to feel carsick, the rough taxi barreled around a circular road and stopped brusquely to a halt at the curb. Layton paid the fare, bid the driver farewell, and stepped out calmly, but Laura only gave a curt '_Bye_' before hauling herself bodily out of the vehicle, all too happy to be in the cool air, feet on stable unmoving ground. With a splutter from the exhaust, the car whisked off along the road and back into city traffic, out of sight.

"Do you feel the need to converse and ask questions of everyone now?" Laura mumbled, pulling her hat over her ears. "We aren't investigating here. Don't make talk with the driver, for goodness' sake…"

"No, but I like to be polite." He smiled assuredly, but Laura wasn't having any of it. Her eyes somersaulted.

They were now located outside of a tall metal fence with an open gate. Dormant hedges spanned the length of the fence, the dormant brown stems appearing dead without their green leaves; those had to sleep until the spring, still several months off. Beyond the fence was a promenade paved in concrete bricks. The spaces between the bricks made a criss-crossing grid that stretched towards forever. At least, until it ran headlong into the perimeter's edge, somewhere out of sight.

A tall, long building ran along the entire left side of the area. Throngs of people entered and left out of several doors that dotted along the side. On the right, there were a few roofed areas, the metal coverings supported by beams at each corner. Each space housed a couple of vacant kiosks, none of them in use now. Perhaps when it was warm, but winter seemed to kill everything except for the crowds.

People laughed and talked, walked around leisurely, some carrying bags, others carrying sandwiches or hamburgers. Some sat at patio tables, despite the cold, possibly waiting for someone they knew to show up; the men were most likely waiting for their tardy wives, and they had the chiseled grimaces to match. Others raced to taxis, and they had their pick, as an endless line of cabs lined the rounded curb.

As Laura stared around, the Professor stepped toward a tall, lit up information sign. He read, and Laura saw the name of the place where they now stood.

"_Navy Pier_? Hmm. Seems like a neat little…place…" She'd forgotten to look up, and now she saw the structure that towered over everything on the busy 'pier': the Ferris wheel. "Wow, they really do have everything here, don't they?"

"That's not the best part." Layton shoved a paper map deep into his coat pocket and casually draped his arm about her lower back, coaxing her through the open gate. She made to flinch, but instantly decided it might not be so bad.

'_Hmm…or maybe it is_.' She gave him a reproving look but continued onward. And then she saw what he'd been talking about. How could she have missed something so obvious?

Seemingly endless like the ocean, Lake Michigan, pastel and bright, met the matching horizon hundreds of yards away. One boat threatened to reach it, but it wouldn't venture out that far today, for anyone with ears knew a snow storm was expected to blow in.

Tiny lapping waves crested and attempted to sparkle in the dying daylight, and each one _plapped_ as it broke against the walls of the pier. Laura approached the edge, and found the sound and sight dangerously mesmerizing. Staring down, there was no reflection to look back at her, like the bean had had. The lake only offered an opaque, cold abyss, and an equally cold death should she fall in and feel the clench of liquid winter.

"I bet it's dreadfully cold…"

'_I wonder what it's like to drown…not that I want to find out._'

"Don't get too attached. You'll have a better view later," Layton said awfully close to her ear. She jolted from her reverie and spun around, exhaling a single puff like an angry steam train.

"Okay, where from here?" Her voice was more nervous than angry.

"I thought we could get a bite for dinner, and look around the shops a bit before riding." He pointed upward at the huge wheel. "Unless you're afraid of heights."

She laughed.

"Me? Afraid of heights? The only thing that frightens me about heights is the compulsion to _jump_."

"And why in the world would you have that sort of compulsion?!" the Professor chuckled, a tinge of worry cloaked in his laugh.

"Because…I'd like to fly." She roughly linked one of her arms with his, the other reaching out to the sky. Her hand arched against the evening glow, outlining some sort of flying trajectory. Stunned, he might have been able to listen better if she hadn't just grabbed him bodily and pulled him close. The wind picked up, almost intuitively understanding the situation, and left her hair sloppily scarved about her neck. Her smile and energy were undeniably contagious. "Wouldn't it be fun to just up and go? No gravity strong enough to pull you down, no weight on your feet. Just you and the air and the sky, wind pulling at your limbs. And that's _it_."

"Yes…that…sounds quite pleasant…" He cleared his throat. "I know I asked earlier, but are you okay?"

"I'm plenty okay." She never let go of his arm. "Now, where's that meal I was promised?"

"Hmm. I might have known that's all you'd bother about…" Holding onto his hat, he led her inside the building that housed the shops and restaurants, prepared to blame his pink cheeks on the bone-chilling cold.

Stomachs stuffed and topics of interest close to exhausted, the couple ventured back into the cold towards the now brightly lit Ferris wheel. It was like a beacon, leading mariners back to land. It shown beautifully against the dark evening sky as they approached the line of anxious soon-to-be riders, people as crazy as they were, riding in the night freeze.

It was cold, but Layton never noticed. He eased into a rather comfortable flow of intellectual conversation and jocular sarcasm, his company more glowing than he'd ever realized before. Maybe it was their surroundings. Maybe it was the lack of pressing responsibilities. All he knew was the energy of the city and Laura. There were occasions during their talking when he'd just stare, his ears hearing words but brain not comprehending. Laura never seemed to detect his lack of interest; he really _had_ become too good at mimicking attentiveness while tucking into his own mental discussions.

And before he had a chance to start paying attention to time, they were boarding their own enclosed car, the attendant dictating some sort of instruction. He sat across from Laura, clean and neat in her navy dress coat and soft faux fur hat, white as fresh snow, but as warm as a frothy bubble bath. She said something. And something again.

"Hello? Earth to Hershel, are _you_ afraid of heights?" Laura laughed haughtily, hoping to find a chink in the armor.

"Perhaps you think you've got me on something, but no, I am not." As he replied, the wheel began to revolve slowly, and their car ascended as quickly as molasses above the loosely assembled crowd. The people looked like spilled salt and pepper as the car went up. "I'm glad we were able to secure our own car. These seat six, but we'd be cramped…"

Laura continued as if not hearing, her smile honest. "Are you afraid of anything?"

Slightly miffed, Professor Layton wasn't sure he ever had to entertain such a question from her. "I…" His eyes darted around their cabin, as if someone had graffitied a fitting answer. "I'm not sure I've ever thought about it."

"Lies!"

"But I'm not lying. Answer it now for yourself."

She sat silent. The Ferris wheel groaned a bit, and the car swayed ever so slightly as the wind embraced it. "What am I afraid of?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed, leaning his elbows on his thighs.

"I'm afraid of people."

"Of…_people_?" It wasn't the answer he was expecting, and she said it so surely, it had to be truthful.

"Yes."

"Well…what is it about people that frightens you? You seem to get along fine in life, you went to school, you have a job, and—"

"That doesn't mean it's _easy_ for me, Hershel," she said, somewhat sadly. "I have to force myself through every social action. Literally _every_ conversation. It doesn't come naturally, as it does for you, obviously…" His neck craned to the side, Layton looked at her curiously. "I mean, you have no problem guiding others, being around them. Teaching. Lecturing. Those things involved direct interactions. I have goals that involve people, and a need to help others too, but…it's more of a background, behind the scenes sort of thing. It's indirect. That's what makes it easier."

"Well, you had no problem ever talking to me. At least, no problem I could ever detect," he said with a small shrug.

"That's just it. To me, you were an enigma, because I couldn't figure out why I didn't have such a hard time talking to you. You were…different." And then her tone changed, from sadness to bitter frustration, as if she was having trouble explaining herself. She'd sigh, then grin nervously, then shake her head. Her mouth would open to speak, but she'd only repeat the whole process again. "You just…you don't understand, you _can't_ understand. I literally have to talk my way through, like…how to socialize, how to communicate. In my head, I just follow a pattern, follow cues. I only appear somewhat normal because I analyze all of you and mimic actions, phrases…how people behave. Of course, not _everything_, because many things that people do are just so _inane_…"

He thought she sounded a bit like some extraterrestrial life-form from the way she was going on about her social observations. It was as if she were analyzing them all on earth, and was striving to assimilate.

'_Is she really that handicapped?_'

"Are you having a hard time now?" he asked.

"I…not as badly as if I were saying this to someone _else_ but…I suppose I never told you any of this…have I..."

"No. I expected your fear to be something different."

"Well, and I fear connecting with people too." Her hands wrung around and around, a nervous habit that never died. "It hurts, to know there won't ever be any legitimate, deep understanding between me and another person. It's like…I'm someone apart. It all ends with my lack of ordinary emotion. I tend to…feel things deeper than basic, bland emotion, and I don't quite get that understanding with anyone. Well, I suppose I did, but…well, I _thought_ I did. And…you know…"

The silence might have exploded the little box capsule that they sat in, it was so pressurized and heavy. Suddenly, the gentleman in the tall hat felt sorry, and he wasn't so tall or gentlemanly anymore. He felt traitorous. He felt low and foul and flat and wormish. The whole ride was supposed to be enjoyable, and it turned sour with a simple question.

'_What am I afraid of…_'

"Laura, I—"

"You don't need to say anything, I know I'm painfully awkward."

"No, you're not, you're very pleasant to be around, and there's nothing wrong with you." He tried to continue when he was met with a very specific snort. Her demeanor was all of a sudden embittered and cynical.

"Oh okay. That's what I tried telling myself for quite a long period of time, just to have a semblance of sanity after…yeah, never mind."

"No, I'm being honest, completely serious, Laura," the Professor tried reassuring her. He grabbed her hands, all this time cupped over her knees, and his grip shook her small wrists slightly. "I would never lead you to think something that wasn't the truth. You still don't have anything to fear around me, that never changed."

"Oh really?" she grimaced, sarcasm leaking through her every pore. It was chilling, if not treacherous, those dark eyes of hers. She may have struggled internally with emotions, but sarcasm was something she was _quite_ skilled at, and with the pointed wit she wielded she was often able to draw a hazardous amount of mental blood.

"Laura, I assure you, I—"

Screams erupted, the Ferris wheel frame groaned, and the gondola creaked as it shook and swayed. Laura gasped as the Professor fell forward a bit before catching himself, leather loafers firmly planted against the metal floor; the last thing he needed was to injure her physically by headbutting her in the jaw. The conversation terminated, whether they liked it or not, Layton stood up as much as the clearance allowed and looked around him out of the surrounding windows.

Their position was almost directly at the top of the wheel. How many times they'd made the revolution trip was unknown, if they'd even made the entire trip at all, but they were now at the apex, over a hundred feet from the ground. It was easy to see a great majority of the surroundings from the birds' eye view, but difficult to tell specifically what was going on at ground level. The lake, black as a patch of midnight, and the actual night sky were one where the horizon line would have been, a single empty void. In the other direction, the downtown skyscrapers were still set against the black sky like bright battlements, a testament of civilization, but out of reach now.

Nothing seemed amiss. Everything looked as it did before they boarded.

"I don't see anything out of the ordinary," the Professor stated matter of factly. Laura sat, unmoving and mumbling, but otherwise taciturn. "What on earth is going—on—"

They shook once more, swinging back and forth, and the shouting of the other riders and the grounded onlookers chorused up to their airborne gondola. It felt as if the entire wheel was tilting on its axis, coming loose from its center mechanism. The Professor steadied himself and held fast onto his hat's brim as Laura's eyes, large orbs glassy like a cornered cat in an alleyway, were furtively looking around for something to protect her.

"Malfunctioning machinery, terrorist attack, God only knows!" she hissed and spluttered, to herself rather than to the Professor. He looked at her, hoping for an answer, but realized that was quite out of reach. What would she know that he didn't?

"Laura, don't lose your head," came the soft admonishment. Subconsciously, he said it to calm himself, rather than her. "Hold onto me and—"

"_HOW'S THE VIEW, LAYTON?_"

Stunned to silence, Layton and Laura gawked at each other for a split second, in that time hoping the other would understand and explain the situation. A cackling, grating sort of voice had boomed from outside, from below. The question now became not _what_ was going on, but—more pressing—_how_ did the source of the voice know the Professor, and _how_ did it know his location?

"Professor, this is very odd," Laura whispered, lips quivering. Layton wished she was cold, but it was more than obvious she was scared. She hid it well to the unobservant eye, but…some things, he just knew. "I wonder if Leopold has caught on to us, what if it's _him_?! He's really up to something!"

Trying not to shake the only thing keeping them in the air, Layton moved around delicately to look out of the windows; they encircled the two, giving a clear view around the entire perimeter of the car. The door was short—about half the height of the car—which left the upper portion completely open. One c_ould_ get a clearer look but…leaning out of the car didn't seem like the most intelligent of ideas at the moment. The voice still bouncing in his ears, Layton tried to place the source, hoping to find a person to match with the out-of-place yell. It seemed futile; he could only see the cold metal beams coming from the frame's center, spokes sprouting from the middle and connecting each car to the ride. It looked much like a bicycle tire.

'_I can't see anyone, but…_'

That voice: he knew it; it wasn't the first time. Nor the second. It wasn't so much the sound or the musicality of the voice that was familiar, no, but the _tone_… The _bitterness_…

"No, it's not your employer, Laura," the Professor snarled, as gentlemanly as he could. His face was pressed to the window, vying to get a glimpse of the disembodied voice. "I believe that it's just an old friend…"

"_Friend_?! What sort of friend jokes during a plight like—"

Shrill and chittering, like wind-rattled bones, the voice was heard again. And it _laughed_.

"I know you can _hear_ me, _Professor_…" it chortled above the breeze, over the cacophony of people crying and yelling. The person (who, by the sound of the voice, must have been a man) must have had a formidable command of the vocal chords to reach such a pitch.

Near the wheel's center, on a maintenance platform, stood a tall figure. The person was barely visible in the darkness, and almost impossibly so from the Professor's vantage point directly above. He had to bend his neck awkwardly, smash his shoulder against the window, and strain his eyes at a downward and sideways angle to see, but now he saw him.

"Huh. So it's the taxi driver," he mumbled, half to himself, half to Laura.

"The taxi driver?!"

"Indeed. That's his attire, and his smile is the same. Well, perhaps more of a leer. Hard to tell given our height and the pitch black…"

But it was definitely him. Like a fresh blade of grass, the driver was young and lean. And while he would have appeared handsome otherwise, his face was wild, and his grimace brooked a hint of obsession. In the man's hands was an enormous, borderline obnoxious, plumber's wrench, measuring almost half of his body. What exactly was done with the tool was unknown, but Layton guessed he'd used it to dismantle something important on the wheel's engine or gears, perhaps a crucial bolt. It didn't matter, as it was now being wielded insanely by the very person who had just brought them to this place mere hours ago…

'_What on _earth_ is he doing?!_' thought the Professor as he briefly labored over the possibilities.

"Can you see him, are you certain? What's he trying to gain, and…how does he know you?" Laura asked hesitantly, as if the answer was more frightening than their circumstances.

"Yes, I can just make him out. And how…I don't know for sure…" He was busy analyzing the frame holding the car aloft.

"Well! What do we do now?!"

"I suppose it's all I can do."

"H-Hershel, what are…what are you doing?!"

Before her eyes, he managed to shove open the door that served as both their entrance and exit, opening the two of them up completely to the void outside. He had had the smart idea of removing his top hat, for when he stuck his head out, the wind flipped around a few locks of his hair and slapped his skin bitterly. His eyes obeying gravity, he chanced a look downward. Solid, cold, uncompromising concrete was all that lay below. Well, and the panicking crowd, which could serve as an unwilling audience, should the Professor make one wrong move…

Trading places with his hat, he sat it down in his seat and reached out of the car. He grabbed the nearest white metal pole of the frame; it was cold, and almost felt wet against his palms and curled fingers. Proceeding with the utmost caution, he gingerly slid down a couple of feet of the vertical portion before resting his feet on a horizontal bar. The rest resembled a ladder, albeit one with a split-inducing distance between the rungs. Ducking beneath the gondola, he slowly began descending the remainder of the frame, his feet struggling to manage each bar.

Still safe inside, Laura had sat glued to her seat, her face now devoid of all color and nerve function as she gaped, slack jawed and unbelieving of what she just witnessed.

"_What the bloody hell are you doing, Hershel?!_" she shrieked as she finally gathered the courage to peer outside. She tried her best to look out of the doorway while maintaining stability; she was mortally afraid any one movement would make the car shift just enough, and she'd join the fledglings of the universe that hadn't paid heed to the 'survival of the fittest'. The black and sharp air tore through her hair, her coat, her skin. Piercing her ears inside and out, the cold wind kept her from hearing the conversation clearly, but she made out enough of it. Anxiously, she watched his brown head and shoulders disappear from her sight. "You've lost it, you've gone mad and just _lost it_!"

"I can hear and see you quite well!" the Professor's voice boomed. Laura thought she was speaking to her, but then realized he must have been addressing the rogue taxi driver. "Don't think for a second that you will be successful in your goal here!"

The man called back. "Not any more successful than _you_ ever have been, you rocks-for-brains twit! It's just enough success to get what I came for…"

"And tell me, what would that be?" Layton yelled again. "What is it this time?"

'_This time…? Does he know who he is? Has he met him before?_' Laura asked herself, eyebrows stitched at the center of her brow. "Why are you entertaining him with conversation?" she butted in, calling from above. It felt stupid, talking to the darkness, but somewhere below the Professor was negotiating the apathetic wheel's frame. "Get back in here this instant! There's nothing you can—"

"Doesn't this remind you of something?" Layton's voice sliced through the tension, ignoring Laura's pleas. There was a moment of silence between the two men when only the cries from onlookers below was able to be heard. Police had entered the scene, and more squad cars and emergency vehicles could be heard wailing from farther away, most likely making their way to the Pier. Laura hadn't noticed it, but there most certainly were people in the other gondolas, and they were just as frightened as she. But now, she was wondering why the police weren't already swarming the mad cab driver. Perhaps they were deterred…

"…remind me of _what_, Layton?!" the driver retorted to the question. "You're just trying to buy more time as you climb about like a monkey and distract me from my _work_! Don't think I can't hear you clambering around up there!" He placed the wrench back onto a portion of the wheel and turned, the metal-on-metal contact issuing a terrible crunching squeal. More screaming from the riders, as the wheel jolted a bit.

Professor Layton merely chuckled, abnormally calm and enjoying the exchange of words. "Well, it _should_ remind you of—"

"Oh, of all the things, do _NOT_ say it—" Laura groaned, almost in tears.

"—a puzzle…"

"DAMN YOU, LAYTON!" the man bellowed. His voice trailed through every single bar and beam of the ride, the resonance causing the thing to vibrate and clatter. Layton felt it tickle his hands as he continued to move down the frame; he was now halfway to the center mechanism's platform, and hoping the man couldn't see him quickening his pace. "I come here to get revenge and you offer me a _puzzle_?!"

"Well, you aren't going to reject it are you?" the Professor said coaxingly, goading the other.

The driver twisted his face and grumbled and cursed. "Go ahead and dish out your _puzzle_, Layton. I'll have this thing undone before you can make it down here alive!"

Layton halted, resting for a moment against a bar. "Then, how about making this a bit more interesting, and having a challenge, my good man?"

The Professor's offer was well met, for the wrench was still. A throng of police officers had collected several yards away from the platform and started screaming out threats to the man through a heavily locked entrance. It apparently had been secured tightly by the taxi driver after he'd entered the maintenance area, and the officers had begun to dismantle the gate and climb the metal fence. The barbed wire at the top proved tricky, but the mad man at hand was proving to be trickier.

"Hershel, you're playing a dangerous game," Laura whispered to the wind.

As expected, Professor Layton remained composed. As composed as if he were conducting a class. "If you fail to solve my puzzle," he proffered, "you reveal your identity, leave this Ferris wheel alone, and turn yourself over to the police."

"And if I _do _solveit?" the man countered with barred teeth.

"…You can continue your 'work', as you call it, without my interfering."

Everything was set in ice, stock still and mute, as if the world was waiting for the answer. Triumphant, the man smiled. "Let's have it then!"

"Very well. I find this one fitting:

_Not only solid when I churn,_

_One small sniff, and you'll soon learn._

_Keys and wheels need a force to turn, _

_But I—yes, I—will turn on my own._

_What am I?_"

'Rage' was an understatement, as the once composed taxi driver, wrench in hand, swung it at the nearest bar repeatedly. It dinged loudly and reverberated through the cold multiple times.

"What sort of rubbish is _that_?!" he shrieked. "It's a stupid riddle, so stupid! I hate your idiotic puzzles!"

As the maniac threw his fit, Professor Layton was almost upon him. He reached his foot out, testing a final portion of the frame that was thinner than the rest, and leapt onto the maintenance platform surrounding the engine box and gear housing. He hadn't considered himself a heavy man, but his weight made a loud enough bang to surprise him, as well as the taxi man.

"Do you have an answer?" he asked before a pause, straightening as he stood up, tall and confident. "If not, remove your mask."

"Eh heh heh heh…speak for yourself, you selfish coward…" The other man lowered his weapon, and only now could the Professor see the tiredness in his eyes. He didn't look so young anymore. "I suppose I don't have an answer. No time to think it over. And I don't care about it anyway. I don't negotiate with the likes of _you_."

"Then reveal yourself. Confirm my suspicions, _Don Paulo_." He thrust out a pointed finger, a trace smile tugging at his lips. "That _is_ who you are, correct?"

In a flurry, the man's right hand flew to his neck, latched onto what appeared to be a flap of skin, and tugged. The handsome young man's face peeled off and was now only a ghoulish and eye-less semblance of a real face, floating in air as the person held the mask aloft. And indeed, the harsh and gritty countenance of Don Paulo was revealed, crooked nose, pointed hair, scoffing smile and all.

"Are you happy now, Layton?" he hacked, tossing the mask aside. It hit the ground with a light slap. "You just have to be right. Always _right_. I'm only glad your blasted hat isn't mocking me from that block head of yours…"

"I'm merely trying to stop you from harming innocent people," Layton said nonchalantly, dismissing the insult to his precious attire. "Whatever issue you have with me should not involve those around us. And now you'll hold up to the rest of the bargain, as we had dis—"

"I _don't _negotiate. _Or_ 'discuss'…"

It just so happened that at that moment, the police managed to break through Don Paulo's barricade, SWAT members rushing the platform in a black wave. It looked like a section of the darkness had mobilized and swept towards them like a swell on the ocean. Guns were brandished and in an instant they'd locked on to the now shocked machinist. Don Paulo growled under his breath as they forced him to raise his arms and come with them slowly. It was pure theatrics, for when a pair of handcuffs was issued, confusion struck as a cloud of smoke blinded them all, every officer striving to get a grip on the culprit in a mad dash. Only an uninhibited cackle filled the air as they all waved their arms, a futile attempt to get rid of the haze.

By the time the cloud cleared, Don Paulo had gone.

"Strangest thing I've ever seen in my entire life," one of the head officers exclaimed tiredly, rubbing his forehead with a shaky hand and coughing heavily. He'd asked Professor Layton several questions, including but not limited to his knowledge of the man behind the chaos, how he had gotten involved…not to mention how he'd descended the Ferris wheel unscathed. It took a good hour and a half to find a mechanic who could get the wheel moving again, allowing each rider well deserved freedom in succession, and the entire time was used to interrogate the only person who'd made it down from the ride. None of them could believe it, but the Professor stood as testament in front of them, humble and willing to comply.

Finally, after half of the riders were released, Laura's gondola approached the ground and came to a halt. Layton had been freed from the barrage of questions and had already made his way to the exit platform to meet her. After that whole ordeal, he hadn't been happier to see her in all his life. He was more than grateful for her chiding yet noticeably relieved smile.

"You are a _lunatic_, do you know that?" came her greeting.

"Certainly not the first time I've been told, but we must be confident with ourselves regardless."

She laughed. "Oh, okay. But you can stop being confident about climbing the Ferris wheel. It's a _Ferris wheel_, not a roundabout! Vertical, it's _vertical_, Hershel…" She handed him his top hat slowly, almost unwillingly. Laughing, he took it.

"I almost forgot…" Atop his head once more, the hat made him feel whole again.

He led her away from the scene, one that was supposed to be fun and exciting. They'd certainly gotten the exciting part, and more than he'd paid for. As they made their way towards a taxi, both looked at each other and laughed.

"I'm not so sure I want to trust another taxi driver," the girl giggled while eyeing each car warily. "Not after all that."

"You know, I thought it was odd that the taxi didn't wait after dropping us off earlier." Judging each blue and red and yellow taxi with stronger scrutiny, the Professor became exceedingly contemplative and crossed his arms as he walked. "A taxi driver typically waits at such a busy place for a new customer, yet this one drove off, and rather quickly. I asked him his schedule before we left and he said he didn't have any immediate clients, yet…off he went."

Deeming it safer to take public transportation, they used a bus to get back to their hotel. Laura felt worn-out and drained from the events of the evening, and by the time they'd returned to their room, she had missed out on half of what Layton was continuing to go on about.

Ending the day right, she settled into her own bed and almost drifted off instantly, but had one thing worming through her mind.

"Who was the driver, really, Hershel? I heard you talking to him, as if you knew…"

"Oh, yes…" His hands were behind his head, and he was leaned back into a mountain of down pillows on his own bed. The room was quiet except for his sigh. It sounded more like an outlet of sorrow than a release of tension. "An old acquaintance, from my younger days. Known now strictly as 'Don Paulo,' but…"

"Oh, your younger days. I forgot you were so old."

"Laura…" She chortled weakly, like the dying coo of a mourning dove, as the Professor rolled his eyes. "Anyway, yes, Don Paulo. Quite the genius with machines. Were he a bit more…_stable_, you and he would get along quite well, I'm sure of it."

"I suppose we would." Her voice became more and more faraway and jaded. "The thing with the Ferris wheel was still odd. I suppose it's not the first time for you though, huh? Huhuh."

"No, I…suppose not…"

Intrigued, Professor Layton sat up and looked over at his companion, but she had already fallen asleep.

END.

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**Hmm...that's a bit weird, isn't it! Don't forget to review! And the next chapter should come quickly, as it's already close to being finished. Also, if you have an answer to the riddle, go ahead and PM me. Haha. I won't reveal it otherwise.**


	34. CH 34: ENGLISHMAN IN CHICAGO (DEPARTURE)

**Hi hi.**

**I've been busy! I'm working on my cosplays for ACEN (anime convention in Chicago), and haven't had time beyond that and my actual job. I wanted to get this chapter done though, and move on to bigger and better parts of the story. I'M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THE NEXT PART.**

**This chapter marks the end of this little emotional arc. We're getting into solving this whole thing, beginning with the next chapter. So hold tight.**

**PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW. Don't just read and forget. :(**

**Preparing the dirt for the growing season,**

**Kelsey**

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**CHAPTER 34: ENGLISHMAN IN ****CHICAGO (DEPARTURE)**

'_How…how…why?_'

Professor Layton did not sleep that night. By 2 in the morning, his brain felt gnawed at and hollow, like a chewed up bone in a dingy kennel. Indeed, as he stretched amidst silk sheets, he knew he was anywhere _but_ a dingy kennel, but it didn't help, as he had tried, numerous times, to drift into calm dreams. It was no use, and he realized it with every turbulent nightmare he was forced into when his eyes closed and his subconscious took over.

He continued to glance in the darkness of the hotel room over to Laura's bed, and each time she was still in the same place, wrapped in the same inky sheet. She'd hardly budged, and if she weren't breathing, one might have thought her dead. Once he actually got up to make sure: and yes, she was inhaling and exhaling, like all normal live people.

It was a little comfort that the city wasn't asleep either, and the lights from the street lamps and signs of area buildings shown around the edge of the window curtain like an angelic frame. It served as their nightlight. It also served as a reminder that the Professor wasn't getting anywhere with sleep, as he'd traced it with his eyes multiple times.

On the 79th time, grumbling and guiltily whispering curses, he finally accepted by 8 AM that he wasn't going to ever rest, and he got ready to seize the day.

As he listened to the low rumble of boiling water in his portable water heater, he fell into a daze. His eyes tore into his top hat, sitting silently on the dark end table next to his bed, and then they shifted their gaze to Laura again, still in slumber. He didn't notice his behind becoming numb as he sat in the hard wood chair at the small dinette table; his brain was too busy churning out possible conclusions and outcomes.

'_Don Paulo, you're a mystery enough, and then Laura….What does she know…_'

He wasn't sure of anything, so he didn't want to dwell on any one thing for too long, _but_…

'_I think she's being reticent about something.._.'

He sighed. No sense wasting time on things he didn't know an ounce about.

"Laura, it's time to go," came his voice, thin and taut. He repeated the words, and by the time she arose, he had pasted a smile to his face and hammered out a pleasant tone of voice to smooth over the worried pitch. She might not notice, was his thought.

Astonishingly, Laura cleaned up in minutes, and was out parading through the city once more, hair freshly combed, her companion newly pensive.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked while stopped at an intersection. Eyeing a window display with subdued interest, she kept one ear on the Professor's response, the other on her surroundings. "You're awfully…contemplative."

He shook his head, a rigid grin stretched across his face. "Nothing. I didn't get much sleep, so I'm a bit worn out…"

"Thinking too much? Or, do you solve puzzles in your dreams too?" The girl laughed, a skip in her step as they crossed. Her warm, springy demeanor was the perfect foil for his, reserved and cold.

"Hmm. How did you know?"

After exiting a bus, they walked towards a large building with a dome in the center of its roof. Laura only guessed that it might be a museum, and she soon learned she was right. More importantly, she should have known she wouldn't get through a trip without Layton going through some sort of museum or academic attraction. In truth, she didn't mind, as she now saw that they were entering the _Museum of Science and Industry_, but once the lecture started… There was no time limit to the classes _outside_ of the University campus gates, and the Professor had the tendency to be _wordy_.

The gentle nature of their browsing soon lulled the Professor back into his comfort zone, and he'd pushed all deep thoughts to the side, saving them for later. Exhibits too curious for half-attentive thoughts, he decided to dedicate his focus totally on the attractions at hand, and he forgot all about last night's events concerning Don Paulo, and anything else that wasn't adding up.

By late afternoon, they had exhausted only a quarter of the museum, yet their stomachs were directing their actions rather than their curiosities. They left the museum semi-explored, and Laura followed the Professor to wherever he knew to go.

They found a small café after a short trip to the center of downtown and walked inside. Eased up a bit, Laura stared up at the menu on the wall as they waited in line. She was in a pliable mood, and Layton found it suitable for questioning.

"So, you got me, it turns out I was doing a lot of thinking after you fell asleep," he started, after they'd finished half of their meals. Pushing his plate forward, he placed his folded arms on the table. His voice became low as he leaned forward. "I have to admit, I haven't really had the opportunity to think as clearly as I was able to last night. Somehow, prior to us coming here, my mind has been…caught in a haze…" Laura gave a sideways smile, chewing the inside of her cheek. "I'm wondering about Stabilnon. What are your thoughts?"

"Oh yes, the place is _quite_ curious," she said with a heavy air of enthusiasm, as if it were her lifework to study the little village. "Do you have a hypothesis about the whole 'sleeping' bit? I just realized I haven't felt the least bit exhausted, at least not the way I was back in that town. I feel a lot more energetic."

"Hmm, yes, strange, isn't it? As for a hypothesis, no, I don't."

Laura stared at him, as if expecting him to elaborate. "Oh, you don't? Well, that was rather blunt! And quite simple, coming from you. I thought maybe you had…well, a _thought_ at least."

"I feel…rather _stupid_, if I could say such a thing, but no, I have no explanation for a whole town that expects to be lulled to sleep like an infant mid-afternoon, and has snow that won't sit still." When he said it aloud, it sounded all the more absurd, and he frowned in response. "It just doesn't make any sense. Whatsoever. I'm not so sure our facts connect, in any way."

"But of course not. None of it does. That'd be much too easy to find a conclusion…so soon." She sipped her water with a bored expression on her face. "I feel what we know connects, but I don't yet know _how_. Do you think we've hit a wall?"

He thought on it briefly, and nodded. About Stabilnon, he had no clue. But about _other_ things…? He decided that he still wouldn't let her know everything going on in his mind. Her comments about Don Paulo and the involvement with the Ferris wheel remained, swirling about his muddled brain.

Her words. She seemed so nonchalant, saying them without any thought: '_The thing with the Ferris wheel was still odd. I suppose it's not the first time for you though, huh?_

'_…the first time for you though, huh? Huhuh._'

He still wondered what _first time_ referred to. _First time _he had to deal with the antics of his voluntary nemesis? Or the _first time_ having trouble with a Ferris wheel? Should it be the latter…

'…_she wouldn't know that about me, the situation with the Ferris wheel in St. Mystere,_' he thought to himself._ 'She was out of my life then._

'…_unless…_'

Oh yes, she'd asked a question.

"Do you realize when you zone out?" she grumbled, her eyes narrowed on him. "Do you think we've hit a brick wall?

"Hmm, I suppose it seems that way, a brick wall," he stammered, fumbling with sandwich crumbs and appearing attentive. "But… Oh. I forgot. We weren't supposed to be chatting about any of this. We're supposed to be enjoying our time. Conversation terminated." His top hat tipped at an angle as he cocked his head.

And he smiled. It was like a trip in a time machine, for Laura was transported back ten long years ago when the world was alight with humor and excitement and remedial archaeology lessons. She could look forward to the man in the top hat and the tea pot, smells of old paper and books and boiling herbs seeping into every fiber of the tiny office. The murky, dark wood of the desk, of the shelves, of the historic architecture was aged and brooding, but when the sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling window, the room was awash in gold, priceless, invaluable, like a cave of all the gold in the world. It was her chapel, her sanctuary.

The best part was…no one had to know about it. _Any_ of it. It was her, and him. The whole affair was like a well-kept secret, one that was never exposed, locked in a safe, one that was supposed to remain hers and hers alone…

…until it was ruined, picked at and opened up like a wound premature. The scarring was invisible, but it was there, a blot on the soul. Mental scars were _not_ the quickest to heal. The proof was in the pain.

Laura squirmed a bit, somehow shaking her emotions off, then returned the grin. "You are such an annoying person sometimes…"

The return trip to their hotel area took a while, but it was warranted, given the amount of people using public transportation. Not only warranted, but welcome. Something had happened back at the restaurant. Something quiet, something deep in the subconscious. It sparked, fizzled, then rekindled again. It burned low, but with a concentrated, intense heat. They both felt it, but neither knew of the other's confusion. The long ride back to their destination gave them the opportunity of silent reflection.

Head fuzzy, Laura continued the exploring quietly. She felt a bit giddy, but at the same time removed, as if she couldn't figure out how to feel and her mind had floated away to escape the harrowing experience. Her eyes darted to the side constantly, trying to gauge the Professor's inner atmosphere.

He'd already caught on, and captured one of her sidelong glances.

"What are you looking at, Laura?" he asked, the question tinged with laughter. Her eyes immediately snapped forward, staring straight ahead. The sidewalk was packed with people, and she'd almost walked into a stuffy old woman.

"I thought I saw something, out of the corner of my eye…a pigeon, perhaps…" It was dumb, she knew, but all she had. Her self-esteem clawed at it as if her life depended on his acceptance of her excuse, hoping he'd buy it.

"I haven't seen a single pigeon this entire time. They're all huddled away, it's too cold, I imagine."

"Well, they have a tendency to…well, you know…get hungry and hop about, looking for…stuff."

"'Stuff'?"

"Er, yes. Stuff, you know…pigeon-y things. Like corn. Or fluff."

The man cleared his throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hopefully it's not about pigeons…"

"No, it isn't," he laughed, more heartily than intended. He was practically putting his apprehension on display. "You really did not think about me, for ten years?"

"…what sort of question is that…" There was a silence as they scuttled through the last group of shoppers and tourists before reaching the hotel doors. Laura hoped the one, two, three smacks of shopping bags and colossal purses would knock the conversation to the ground where they'd trample it to death.

But he continued with more antagonizing questions. "Not even once?"

"Hershel, I made myself clear when I…found you again, and talked to you at the ice cream parlor. Didn't I say I didn't want anything to do with you? Ever again? That's what I said. So for ten years…"

"Well, you may have alluded to that, once or twice, but I just don't find it plausible to—"

"'_Don't find it plausible_'? Aheh, ha ha, seriously?" she snapped softly, not wanting to attract several pairs of interested eyes. She waited until crossing the lobby before resuming. "After what happened, that's your opinion on the matter? Not plausible…" She made a spitting sound as if the words tasted like something vile and rotted.

"Are you able to answer 'yes' or 'no'?" he asked. "Did you ever think or wonder about me, or seek me out in any fashion over the past ten years?"

His stern gaze shadowed under his hat, he was hoping he could force an honest answer. Surely, she'd break and admit to _something_. Absolutely, she had to have at least _thought_ about him. After all…he had thought of her, admittedly, often.

But her face confirmed her angry answer before her mouth uttered the words. "I never did."

"Never did what?"

"Never thought about you."

"In any capacity?" he pushed, coaxing her to give a completely specific response, with no question of the integrity of her answer.

"I don't know what you're trying to dig out of me, Mr. Archeologist, but I have no treasure hiding."

He frowned. "I asked for a 'yes' or a 'no'…"

"No!" she grunted, tiny fists punching downward towards the glassy floor, much like a frustrated child in a toy store. "No, no, and _no_. I wanted nothing to do with you, and…I didn't want to think about you…ever…again… No more dumb questions."

One furious finger jab later, the elevator descended to ground level and collected them. Professor Layton's heart felt like ice. His throat felt dry and cold, his brain equally as numb and dead. He might have felt his stomach churn, if it hadn't already dropped to his feet. It was a blessing it didn't turn and go the other way; he might have been able to vomit, if he thought about her words hard enough. Somehow, he felt betrayed. It wasn't exactly rational, but he couldn't help the stinging wounds buried deep into his ears, his mind, after hearing her bitter comments. Yes, betrayed, let down, fooled…

'_Was I really expecting another answer…?_'

He looked at her tiny frame, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She did not move, not even her foot was tapping, no fingers running nervously through dark strands of hair. Her eyes were magnets, caught on the metal casing around the button panel; from his angle, he could not judge their feelings. The lift swayed ever so slightly, and only then did she shift her stance.

"I'm sorry," he said after a time. They'd arrived at their hotel room, Laura grumbling as she fished for the key card. She plugged it in the slot and entered as if not hearing him.

The room itself was not incredibly large, but was packed from wall to wall with comforts and amenities and perks the likes of which neither of them was able to experience often. The entry way was paved in creamy yellow tile that led to a bathroom off to the right side. This room itself could have been considered the size of the average bedroom, but instead of a bed was a squared off section in the corner that served as the shower. It was boxed in with crystal clear glass walls, only now speckled with the residue of that morning's showers. A toilet sat adjacent, ivory colored and complete with digital buttons and settings that had hardly been touched. Across from all this, spanning the length of the room was a granite countertop, and amidst the stone field were two designer sinks, floating atop the surface like inverted, glass UFO ships.

While the bathroom awed Laura more than anything, the bedroom was also quite beautiful, as the black ceiling trim contrasted starkly with the subdued burnt orange walls. The small sitting area—complete with cozy sofa, coffee table, and flat-screen television—complemented the color palette, as did a small dark wooden desk opposite the two king size beds. Despite the room's size, both beds fit comfortably, still allowing easy passage around the space. The Professor's bed was notably messy, the black duvet and sheets pulled and tossed this way and that like rolling fields freshly plowed, while Laura's was equally the opposite: impeccably made, as it was when they entered the room for the first time.

Now, she crossed the room after removing her shoes, and threw herself amidst her bed's pillows. A muffled grunt of frustration was barely audible.

"Imf's ahgay."

"Umm…I'm sorry, I didn't quite—"

"I _said_…it's okay," Laura said, sitting up and speaking to the air instead of the pillow. "As long as you buy me dinner, it's okay."

"I…" He lifted a hand in protest, opened his mouth to speak, but ended with a sigh. "They say the way to a _man's_ heart is through his stomach, but…"

"Look, I'm sorry for being petulant. I'm just not…Well, I gave you my answer."

Layton nodded. "Yes. You did. I won't press you anymore."

"Are you upset?"

His eyes set on hers. They were dark and hollow, and yet somehow pleading. "I…I'm not."

"Liar…"

"That's…not very polite…" he choked.

"Politeness was never my policy. Not with _you_." She launched off the bed and pulled back one of the many thick window curtains. Delicately, she touched the cold glass with her hands and leaned forward, her breath fogging it with a tiny irregular cloud of steam. "I want to be down there when the new year comes. I want to see the bean again."

"The bean?! We were just there!"

"Yes. I want to hear all those people being completely and utterly useless and stupid. But I mostly just want to see the bean and maybe hear the echoes bounce off the buildings. I think it's more…poignant that way. Hopes and cheers for the new year, drowning out everything else. Even if none of it actually makes any headway… New Year's Resolutions were always something strange to me… But the whole cacophony, you know. It might take my mind off things."

The Professor stepped forward, towards the window, but not to her side. "Yes, I'd already planned on it. Do you mind a late dinner? I thought we'd stick to the ground level so we'd already be down there, so I got a reservation…"

Laura nodded, waved him off, and excused herself to the gift shop several floors below.

It was the first time she'd been alone that day, other than in the shower, and she wanted the solitude desperately. Her mind screamed for the relief of seclusion, now more than ever. She swam in feelings: anger, sadness, agitation. Every few moments she began drowning in them, and, counterintuitively, being isolated helped her to pull herself out of the mental pit.

The Professor's presence was now making her feel obsessively self-conscious. What rubbish would he ask next, she wondered. Would she really have to come up with more painful answers and explanations? Didn't he understand _anything_ that went on ten years ago? Didn't he understand what he was doing to her _now_?

"Some college education, the bloody idiot. He has no idea about anything. He only thinks about puzzles and rocks and lectures… A decade won't teach an idiot _anything_."

She whispered to the ghosts of the lobby. No one was around, save her and the bored desk clerks. The ceiling was stories above her, too far up to be reflected in the glassy floor. Only her own image looked up at her as she glanced down. Her face was milky and distorted in the white tile, but she didn't need to see the details to know she appeared shook up and distressed.

"Speaking of New Year's Resolutions…" she said to herself as she mindlessly picked up knick-knacks in the gift store, aimlessly looking at price tags.

'_I'm resolving to shut him out, shut him down, and shut him _up.

'…_at least…after this silly holiday._'

* * *

Confetti fluttered around like snow, the tiny pieces swept up and scattered by the breeze, not unlike the members of the crowd walking and running around. As the wind rose and fell, more and more of the pieces danced all the longer, avoiding the ground by pure chance.

Professor Layton, on his last walk around the United States' third largest city, silently recalled the New Year's Days of years past, and very few stuck out in his mind as something profound. Most were spent around colleagues of the academic world, those present toasting their glasses high, the Professor holding his warm mug of tea close to his lips. He would hope for a safe, healthy, and productive year, and perhaps he'd wonder if anything new was in store for him during the next 365 days, but that was where his New Years experience would end.

This holiday was different, as his mind and heart were battling for control, and the other warring party bumbled along next to him, unawares of his tactics. He didn't consider himself a strategist, but the past couple of months were turning him into one. A rather _seasoned_ one. That in itself was odd enough to feel foreign, yet somehow seductive.

They'd ate, they'd somehow eased past the half-argument from earlier, and they were able to comfortably get through a pleasant conversation without any mines being stepped on. Confidence intact, Professor Layton led them to a prime spot for firework viewing. At least, it would have been prime, had the crowd not filled in every possible spot. Packed like sardines, everyone looked at watches, mobile devices, and anything else around them that told the current time.

Somewhere a band played loudly, and a rise of voices took to the air as the minutes whittled down. Laura buried her hands in her pockets, the Professor tried not to crush into her as he provided an inconspicuous barrier between her and any of the wild animals around them. He gave a few of them harsh looks (as harsh as he could muster) as they tried to cut in front of him or if they obnoxiously careened into Laura, but the girl never noticed.

They stopped along a low concrete fence, where a few teenage boys were conducting a balancing act while trying to stand on the ledge. Just as the Professor was preparing a speech to deliver as soon as they toppled over his top hat, the group left, opening up the area for the two to sit.

Then the fireworks started. The crowd took a collective deep breath before cheering as the show commenced with a triple high-pitched whistle, followed by an equally startling triple boom. A flurry of cannons couldn't have been louder, as blast after blast continued to force neon flowers into bloom and send them spinning across the blank night canvas. The glow painted the entire scene; buildings shown pink, orange, blue, and green. The faces of those watching were turned upward, necks craned and throbbing as the fireworks progressed over the next few minutes.

Laura smiled stupidly with childish delight, her face splashed with a sickly yellow, and the Professor couldn't help but smile too. Both clapped loudly at the show's end, which came more quickly than anticipated. But time passed as it always had, and now, the year was up.

Another year closing, another year given clearance to be locked up with all years past.

Shyly, Laura looked up at the man standing next to her. The shadow of the top hat fell across her face. He didn't notice her staring.

A minute left, the crowd started counting down.

"Well, did you make your resolutions yet, Laura?" the Professor said loudly, cutting through the clamor. The voice came to her as a surprise.

"Er…well…"

"You still have 30 seconds. 29, 28…"

"I said I don't like resolutions," she hollered as she watched a digital countdown display that was splashed on a skyscraper, counting down to her new year. "I get too overwhelmed with keeping them."

"That's the point, to be diligent on keeping them." There were only 15 seconds left. "Well, I made mine. It doesn't matter if you do or not." He finally looked down at her and smiled. Again.

9, 8, 7…

'_I do have one!'_ the girl thought to herself, fidgeting as the year came to a close. '_But…I…I'm not too sure I want to keep it…_'

3, 2, 1…

The crowd erupted, voices raised to the skies, extra loud bursts of cheers booming from random parts of the area. Some grabbed friends and began lifting them in the air.

All the Professor said was, "Well, Happy New Year, Laura." She nodded with no response. Anticlimactic. Expected.

As was one of the New Year's customs, those observers close to one another shared an embrace and for some, a kiss, some a bit deeper and longer than standard. They got stares and grunts of disapproval by a few bystanders, others hooted and punched the air. '_Auld Lane Sang_' played loudly from all directions, speakers mounted around the perimeter blaring the traditional New Year's song. Children cheered, couples continued to nuzzle and caress each other, laughing together with their traveling parties. They'd made it intact into the new year.

Laura stared straight ahead. The Professor stood stock-still amidst the happy chaos, smiling calmly. His brain, however, shot off in a thousand different directions, each new thought all the more logical, or emotional, or rational, or confused, than the next; he felt as torn and split as the confetti that continued spilling from some unknown source.

In the matter of seconds, he had made a decision for the evening, still staring into the multi-colored paper as it apathetically floated around, waiting to land wherever the wind took it.

'_Wherever the wind goes…confetti just leaves its fate up to the flow of the wind…_

'_The flow…no thinking, just…just…_'

He removed the glove from his right hand and took Laura's in his. She immediately reacted with surprise, perhaps a tinge of fear at the touch of skin against her own. She looked up into his face, her eyes bewildered, as if some stranger nearby had just took her by the hand.

"W…What are you…?"

"Is there a problem?"

She looked down at where her hand should have been, no longer visible as it was tucked away in the Professor's warm coat pocket. Her fingertips and knuckles brushed the sheep skin insert, soft and thick.

"Hershel, we shouldn't…"

"I'm merely guiding you about Chicago, Laura. It's a bit different than the environment in London. A gentleman never lets his company become lost, especially a lady."

"But…but!"

He led her through the throngs of people, some rushing to leave, others still cheering and jumping around. They walked out of the thick of the crowd and towards a low wall that cut into a park hillside. It ran alongside a sidewalk, with the small grassy plain leveling out atop the cement barrier. A light dusting of snow laid on the grass, the brittle blades punctuating the otherwise white field.

The Professor sat on the wall, careful not to fall back into the snow. "Shall we wait for the crowds to thin before heading off?"

Still unsure, Laura merely sat, saying nothing. Her mind faded in and out, all of her senses burning, her wit and logic melting despite the cold.

'_I don't want to go through this again, I can't go through this again, I—'_

She felt him looking at her from the side. She was afraid to turn her head, but did it anyway, unwillingly so. That same awful smile, the same exact one that made her feel simultaneously riled and calm, angry and happy, frustrated and relieved.

She grimaced, feeling more stupid than anything now. "P…Please let go…" Her voice was lost. "What? What's that smile for?" she managed to giggle, tempted to make fun of him, if only to alleviate the awkwardness she was experiencing.

"I was only admiring."

"Admiring what?"

"I'm not surprised that winter is your favorite season. It really brings out a natural beauty in you." He grinned broadly, teeth hidden behind taut lips, his eyes lazy.

"How can you say that so matter-of-factly?! Without even twitching, without a laugh? What's your problem, you were fine up until now!"

"Because it's the truth," he replied, the smile unwavering. "It's not hard to express it. I won't deny truths, it's too difficult to do so."

"I beg to differ. I'll fight off some of those truths until I'm cold and dead in the grave." She pursed her lips, turning away from his gaze.

"So you admit that you're denying something that is true?"

"As illogical as it is, yes."

"Even if it's staring at you in the face?"

'_What an idiot!_' she screamed inside.

"Even if—" She looked back at him, not ready for what came next. As she opened her mouth to speak, the gap closed between the both of them, the Professor's lips firmly pressed against hers.

The world froze. No one spoke anymore, no confetti fell. The earth no longer spun, and her heartbeats resounded like war drums in her ears. An otherwise silent, unmoving battle.

Laura looked down her nose, Layton's face distorted and blurry. Then she closed her eyes, deciding it'd cause more of a scene to reject the action than to let it occur. After several seconds, the Professor pulled away slowly, his lips still brushing hers. She could feel his breathing, warm breath turning to vapor in the freezing temperature. He looked into her eyes, dark black orbs burning like coals, fighting the winter. He smiled, almost seductively, although Laura tried to reason that she'd imagined it. Or maybe she was reading into it too much.

'_Way too much_.'

"I…don't know if…" she started, her voice shaking, then cracking.

"You don't know if what?" he asked, no more than a whisper.

Laura could tell he wasn't finished, and wanted very few interruptions, his tone impatient. But she wasn't sure _what_ he wasn't finished with. It frightened her a bit, but the adventurous side of her wanted to find out all the same. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then moved further down her neck. He worked slow, making sure to avoid being seen by passers-by.

"Hershel, I…"

"What's the matter?"

"I already resolved…we…really shouldn't…mmph." Her lips locked with his once again, his breathing ragged, broken as he ravaged any part of her mouth that his tongue and lips could reach. She whined, then moaned as he cupped the sides of her face, holding her head still, her tongue battling for dominance as she struggled to catch a breath.

The Professor pulled away, his face covered in a faint film of nervous sweat. "Let's leave New Year's resolutions for tomorrow."

"Please, Hershel, come now," she laughed weakly. "We can't do this, you—"

"I don't—want—to—follow mine yet," he muttered, strained as he continued pressing kisses to her face, missing the most obvious target. "Please, Laurie, let's head back to our hotel. I don't feel comfortable making a scene in public." He helped her gain her footing, then led them both towards the tall hotel building. She didn't object: she didn't know how.

They cut through the thinning crowds, no one aware of the confusing passion that was occurring underneath the surface, the Professor holding Laura's hand tightly.

It was like a movie. The lobby, the chandelier, the ground floor restaurant. Everything blurred and bled into one fleeting image, one frame. They finally got into the elevator, Laura smiling nervously. She almost hoped someone would join them, she was so unsure of how to proceed; being alone with him was awkward, in a way. She wanted any break, _any_ break at all, something to change the focus. "What floor are we on again—"

"Hush, no more…" He pushed her against the wall, taking full advantage of her mouth as she whimpered, small punctuated peeps that managed to sound through their wild dance of sorts. The door shut, the curtains closed.

She involuntarily threw her arms around his neck, her brain fighting…something. Was she fighting herself? The lights were too bright, her breathing was shallow, was she dying? Was she about to have a massive meltdown?

"Hershel, I…I real—really…"

"You need to close your mouth; it's harder to hit a moving target." When the elevator dinged loudly, he frowned and waited for the door to open at their floor. When had he pressed the button? He didn't know, and didn't care, whisking her off to the room, his hand about her wrist. Laura laughed weakly, feeling much too happy, her brain short-circuiting, as it knew this should be opposed, stopped, a huge halt to it all.

And then the fighting came, the self-arguing.

'_Shouldn't there be some sort of major interruption here?! I need something to intervene. Please, please, anything, please—_

_ 'Shut up. Shut up and just let go. Let it go, like everyone else does._

_ 'No, no, I can't do that. My logic, my reason. Where is my reason?_

_ 'WHERE IS MY GOD DAMN BLOODY REASON?_'

"Professor, we really—"

"'_Professor'_? Where did that come from?" he laughed, punching the card into the door's handle, the little green light not showing up quickly enough for him. Laura begged mentally for it to flicker red.

'_Please be a faulty key…please…_

_ 'Green, yes. A private place. No more crowds…_

'_But I want a crowd, I want to blend, melt away—!_

_ '…don't I?'_

"Sorry, I sometimes am still so used to saying, hearing that… I mean, you _are_ a professor. But really," she hurried inside, removing her coat, brushing the snow flurries off. "Really, Hershel, we…" He wasn't listening to her, she could tell.

Something carnal clawed at the dry, thirsting sensation in her brain, something lethal. It would be fatal, she knew. She watched the Professor hurriedly remove his sweater, his top hat, his shoes tossed haphazardly against the closed door. The smile. A bit crazed, but the smile, nonetheless.

She waited for him to stand up straight as she fought with herself internally, winning and losing at the same time as she chose one possible action over another.

_Fizzle, fizzle, beep beep beeeeeeep_—a fictitious alarm, she felt her mind crack and flat line, and then…a surge of something from somewhere. Was that adrenaline, was that what it was called? Dopamine? Serotonin…?

Too many hormones to remember. She hated them all. A pain. A righteously mortifying pain, things running through her body, interfering with her mind.

No sooner had Layton removed his hat and hung it on the wall hook that she jumped at him, arms about his neck, kissing him repeatedly repeatedly repeatedly until being lifted off the floor, the ceiling spinning, the feeling of a firm bed beneath her back. She pushed herself backwards to keep herself from sliding off the slippery duvet, but found it difficult under the Professor's weight. He straddled her between his knees, then pulled her legs along the sides of his, her heels naturally pulling him closer at the back of his thighs. She wrapped one leg tightly around him, the other riding his lower back, catching him in a securely tangled web. Not that he was interested in breaking loose any time soon.

Laura didn't realize she'd been fumbling his shirt buttons in her fingers, unbuttoning the entire front of his soft cotton oxford. All she was mindful of was the softness and the faraway smell of lavender. Was it laundry detergent? Even stronger was his dark, woodsy cologne, seemingly embedded into his skin, he always smelled of it. That and tea. A lethal mix. The palms of her hands and the pads of her fingers wildly traced messy circles over his skin, along his sides, over his back. She could feel his shoulder blades tense up each time she reached his spine, stroking down the beady column steadily. She wanted him suffering, she wanted him mad from a slow torture. Maybe she was a sadist, she wasn't quite sure, but she liked when he'd seize up, arch like a parabola, and bite his lower lip, even if it meant that he'd stop whatever it was he was doing to her at the time.

He had been playing at her lips, setting out on a course over her cheeks, down her neck, kisses first, a taste test here and there. He thought he might go mad with the cute little short-lived moans she'd make each time he'd suddenly switch to his tongue, then the laughing smile she'd display for a couple of seconds. She would mellow again, taking her role seriously and playing his nerves with her fingers.

They continued in this way for several minutes before each of them recognized they'd both made it to the point where there wouldn't be any turning around, no taking their actions back should they continue. Laura slowed her pace, looking clearly into Layton's tired but hungry eyes. She mindfully started an interior monologue with herself, a last stand for her reason to shine through.

'_I have to stop_.

'_Laura, you_ have_ to stop. Please_.'

"H-Hershel…wait…"

He made his way to her undershirt, the collar serving as a feeble gate, the thin material a teasing barrier. Had she said something?

"Hershel, we need to stop, now—"

_Merely a suggestion, surely_, he thought. He kissed her heavily on the mouth, his hands trying to find the bottom opening to her shirt, when he was suddenly thrown backward.

"_HERSHEL, STOP_!"

Sitting on his backside, he gawked at her incredulously, his system sent into shock. From pleasure to confusion, he wasn't sure what was happening, his adrenaline had been pulsating through his body so violently. All he knew now were two large, worried eyes, darker than black the fear was so thick, so absolute.

"Wha—"

"We _have_ to _stop_. We…we can't…not again…no…" Laura gasped for air. Her speech was tattered and anemic, barely having any substance to cling to. It didn't make it any less substantial though, as small tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "You have to stay in control. I'm…We just…It's not the same," she murmured. It was more like a moan, pleading and desperate.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, staring into blackness. He couldn't believe himself. Was he really the predatory type, taking what he wanted at the expense of others? No. No. No. What just happened? He didn't even know; he situated himself, trying to ignore the throbbing below his belt. He felt as if he was transcendent, looking down onto himself, not capable of controlling his motions, but perfectly able to judge them.

"I'm sorry," he said, garbled and faraway. "I'm…I forgot that, well…from before, my feelings from before, I don't know where they came from, all of a sudden…" He got up to turn on a lamp, staring blankly as he sat on the bed again.

"Well, I didn't forget anything. Ten year hiatus ring a bell?"

He shot up and walked hastily to the bathroom, closing the door with a somewhat contained _bang_. He remained in there for several minutes, the faucet going on and off a few times, a towel rack squeaking as a towel was pulled off of a loose rung. Laura had almost fallen into a half-sleep—her focus dozing, but her eyes wide open—when he finally came back out, wearing thin sleeping pants and a loose tee. He had a towel about his neck, draped over his shoulders, and his hair was damp, sticking up in random places as the dregs of water held patches together. He walked over to her, still on the bed, and smiled. Not a crazed smile, a genuine one Laura noticed. She glanced quickly at him as he approached.

He sat on the edge of the bed near her torso as she lay there, facing outward. She glanced upward again. Still smiling, he sighed.

"I'm genuinely sorry, Laurie. I don't know what came over me, I just… There's something that I just can't explain, I—"

"Don't get the wrong idea," she blurted out, monotone. Her eyes pulled away from his. "I know how you feel. Maybe better than you."

"You…what do you mean?"

"Look, you're not the only one who's torn." She pulled a sheet over her, forcing the Professor to stand momentarily as she drug it out from underneath him. She turned away, her back to him as he moved about the bed to keep her face in sight. She looked like a melancholy caterpillar, curled and clothed in her sheet-cocoon, her expression dour. "I don't know what it was but…something animalistic took over just now. Part of me wasn't with you, and part was with whatever you were making me feel. That part of me wanted you to keep going. But it wasn't…_really_ me. Me—I mean—_I_ am holding back, I don't know what it is, but I can't pretend that everything is fine. There's something that I can't get past with you, Hershel." She sniffed. "I just can't get past it."

He looked at her longingly, as if she was merely a picture, not the real thing. "Laurie…"

"I won't be lied to, cheated, and used again, that's all I'm saying. As much as I…_thought_ that you loved me, I just…don't believe it was ever real…anymore. I don't know whether to be more disgusted at _you_, or at _myself_."

"But—"

"Like…nevermind."

"Like what?"

"I said _nevermind_."

"Laura, I don't know how to apologize for ten years ago, I really don't. I—"

"Well, doing the deed again isn't how to do it!" she said loudly, the tone in her voice icy. "You don't need to apologize, really." She looked away from him again, closing her eyes. "I have no interest in you anymore anyway."

"I know that's a bald-faced lie," he said crossly, his anger anything but subtle. "You wouldn't have contacted me in the first place if you felt that strongly against me, and you wouldn't behave the way you do around me, if you had no _interest_, as you put it. Don't lie to me, Laura Haris. I'm no idiot."

He watched her shrug from beneath the sheet, her face half covered by the material. It made him furious, but he was strangely able to keep his calm. Perhaps it was the guilt nagging at him, wriggling miserably in the sickening pit of his stomach, a nauseous cesspool that if not properly contained, would contaminate any reason he could salvage. Could he blame her? Part of him wanted to, but it was the part that would be wrong. Either way, he was damned.

Laura reached towards the lamp switch. "Let's just continue this as originally planned. I do my job, you help me out. Right? No sappy history, no dirty past. Erase it. We're business partners, that is all," she uttered in a practiced voice, almost robotic. She turned to face him, her eyes red from holding back tears. "Right?"

He looked at her stony-faced, unwilling to give in to her demands. His mouth was shut tightly, hiding his barred teeth, grinding against each other for every word she spoke.

"Do you not agree? Right?" she repeated.

"I don't understand how you could possibly continue to hide it," he broke, his voice disintegrating into a low crumbly sort of tone. "Your feelings."

"I…don't have any…"

"_Laura_." He moved back around the bed, standing in front of her now. He bent down to see eye to eye, face to face, on her level. She tried looking away, but the Professor gripped her shoulder firmly and forced her to face him. "You will lie to my face, and tell me you don't have any feelings for me? Not even in the slightest? Look at me, Laurie, _look at me_. Whether you were thinking clearly or not, your…your actions just now told me otherwise."

She sat up suddenly, tossing the sheet aside. She glared daggers, hoping to slice him deep. "Since when do you care so much about 'feelings' and all of this…this 'love' rubbish? Bollocks! That's what I have to say about it!"

He stopped for a moment, thinking. He didn't really know why he was so keen on drilling her about her thoughts, her feelings, what she was experiencing mentally. And then it hit him, a clear goal: he wanted her to admit that she needed him for more than just a petty investigation. That was spare time, that was something that could wait. An investigation? She could have just as easily called the police with her suspicions, yet she contacted _him_. Contacted him despite her own comfort and security, to solve some stupid problem that was built purely on paranoia? Really? That was all?

"…you're right. You're absolutely right." He sighed. "I never was one for talking about such things. So, here's what I have to say about it." He leaned forward and kissed her solidly on the mouth. Her eyes widened to large brown circles, her surprise even larger. "There. Happy? That's what I have to say about it."

"That tells me nothing at all! Stop playing with me!"

Her shouting fell on dead ears as the Professor turned away from her, his face sullen and grave. He wouldn't let her see his eyes, brimming with salty tears. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, I shouldn't have started this. I need to keep my emotions in check, I'm truly sorry…"

The sounds of her burying herself back into the sheets without another word made him break. She was done, and falling into sleep. He was left to stare blankly, his feelings unrequited. A miserable mess, and his stomach in knots.

Aimlessly, he went to his suitcase, pretending to look through it. Sifting through shirts, trousers, undergarments, and socks, he still found no agenda amid the fabric. He waited until Laura's breathing changed from ragged and distressed, to calm and peaceful. She was asleep.

He walked to the bed and looked at her briefly, his heart melting a bit at her serene grin. He'd never seen her so peaceful. Was getting all of that anger out really necessary for her to enjoy sleep? _She must really hate me_, he thought to himself, the idea of it making him choke on a sob.

"Even if you won't listen, it's been more than I could hope for, to be in this room, right now," he said to himself in a whisper. "I used to think…"

'_I told myself I'd never see you again_.'

He wanted to lean in and listen to her inhale and exhale more closely, but thought better of it. The meaning of their trip, their quarry, rang in his head once more.

'_This trip was a side-story…The reason behind all this is Laura's initial suspicions…_'

Things had to be looked into, and now, it was the only time he would be alone.

The answer had come to him only two days ago. The savior of their troubles.

'_And now to test my theory…_'

Returning to the suitcase, he quickly but quietly pulled out a yellow, wrinkled envelope and removed its contents, an equally wrinkled white paper and a pen. His eyes flickered to the bed incessantly, keen on keeping his findings purely confidential. Each crinkle of the paper made him cringe, expecting Laura to awaken.

"Tell me your secrets… You brought me here, to this point, with one signature. Now, bring me out, to someplace new…to a solution."

The name 'Hershel Layton' disappeared into the hungry paper, and the eponymously named Hershel Layton, professor of archaeology and master of puzzles, conducted experiment after experiment on the page from the Book of Memory, deep into the first night of the new year.

**END.**


	35. CHAPTER 35: ROCK AND RULE

**Hi, snot-nosed kids.**

**I've been busy. Went to an anime convention, started my garden, died several times because of working full time at a dorky place….NO TIME TO DO ANYTHING ELSE.**

**But here is the next chapter. First, I threw in a mini summary, just to sum a few things up and get back on track. This is a long story. Don't get lost!**

**So now go read. We'll get serious in the next chapter.**

**Byebye,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**Let's take a look at what we know, and summarize our findings.**

**Brief Summary**

In August, Professor Hershel Layton, teacher and researcher of archaeology at Gressenheller University, received a strange, self-delivered envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper—blank and stark white—with attached instructions directing him to write his name. Hesitant at first, he eventually gave in to curiosity, did as the paper suggested, and was shook up as decade-old events and encounters with former student Laura Haris were magically listed on the page without any explanation. In addition to the eerie paper, he found himself met once more with Laura, who unwillingly broke their ten year hiatus in order to ask the Professor for much-needed help.

It is an awkward reunion, as the Professor and Laura share a rocky and emotional past, one that began with the Professor holding an assistant position at Grissom College when Laura was a first year college student. Although considered a prodigy in the fields of mathematics and engineering, Laura found herself failing archaeology, and spending more and more time with her archaeology professor due to necessary tutoring sessions. This led to unforeseen friendship and unexpected feelings, ending ultimately with a painful separation. For 10 years, neither of them knew of the others' whereabouts, and each existed without any contact. At least, that's what the Professor thought, and that's what Laura maintains.

It is learned that Laura is the lead engineer and mechanical architect for Petrolite, Inc., a petroleum company that had gained notoriety for controversially monopolizing oil in Britain and much of Europe. Layton was first torn, for how could Laura—his once bright and promising student—be involved with such business practices? Laura questions the integrity of her employer—Leopold Chancey—but from what evidence? Very little is known, yet it is here that the questions, investigating, and sifting through complicated feelings all begin.

**Mysteries and Facts**

**Leopold Chancey, who initially hired Laura to build mammoth drills for archaeological excavation, suddenly shifts his focus to oil.** As his megalomania increases, Laura begins to wonder if he has a secret agenda. Why would someone interested in building complex excavation machines change their focus to oil rigs?

**Laura asks Professor Layton for help.** After sending a page from the Book of Memory (and a puzzle) to the Professor, they meet at Laura's ice cream establishment, Dilliam's. She asks the Professor to help her with her personal investigation.

**Rumors about the leadership behind Petrolite.** Although rumors say that Leopold works alongside his uncle, Edward Chancey II, no one (including Laura) has ever seen Edward senior's involvement in the company. This is all that Laura knows and reveals, for little is known about Leopold's past.

**The Book of Memory.** In addition to strange behavior, Leopold Chancey possesses the Book of Memory, an ancient artifact that has mostly unknown capabilities. What _is_ known is that the Book has the power to connect the memories of two people (who need to have their names written on a page), and list them in chronological order (as the Professor saw first hand). It is believed that a member of the justice system during the medieval ages turned to the dark arts to create a tool that would connect suspects to victims in order to discern whereabouts and events that would tell of a person's innocence. The Book has been shuffled from constables to judges, peasants to generals, kings to the mafia. How the Book works and how it decides what memories/events between two people to list is unknown. Where Leopold obtained the Book is also unknown.

**Leopold's past is in shadow. **While in Italy, Layton, Luke, and Flora meet an old maid and her fellow workers who used to work for the Chanceys. They state that Leopold Chancey died years ago in a boating accident. Shortly after his son's death, Leopold's father sold the family oil business to his brother, Edward Chancey II, just before committing suicide. Layton looks into this further, but finds no death certificate or any records indicating that Leopold would be dead.

**Parrot aviary. **The crew investigates the offices of Petrolite, finding nothing of importance inside. However, the grounds reveal a menagerie of exotic parrots, supposedly bought and owned by Leopold. They are emaciated and poorly tended to, as Laura tells that she recently had to begin caring for them after witnessing Leopold's neglect. As Layton approaches the creatures, all of the birds cry and squawk _Not dad!_. This strikes the Professor as strange, since it would seem appropriate that there would be a figure that the birds would associate with as 'Dad', in order to compare to a 'Not Dad'. He recalls that Edward Chancey II was an aviculturalist, but has no other facts to go on.

**Edward Chancey II's old ties. **Laura and Layton leave Luke and Flora at the Professor's flat when they go to a dodgy 'gentlemen's club' to pay a visit to a former friend of Edward Chancey II. In hopes to find out the whereabouts of Edward Senior, they question Arthur G. Thackman, who used to work in the archeology field. Their conversation isn't as helpful as they thought, but they learn that Arthur was originally approached by Edward to co-own Petrolite. After turning down the offer, Mr. Thackman hadn't heard from Edward, even after many attempts to contact his old friend.

**Deaths and missing persons. **The Professor learns of a few strange deaths in the archaeological community, as well as Arthur Thackman's. In international news, a few missing maids from affluent families have come up missing.

**Stabilnon. **Layton and Laura go to the States to a southern city called Stabilnon so that Laura can oversee the installation of an oil drill. The town has charm beyond compare, but much more in the way of mystery. A few of the oddities that the town possesses include townspeople mentioning a "sleeping spell" that happens daily, the two travelers easily becoming fatigued, all buildings having heavily fortified foundations, and snow being unable to stay settled on rooftops, trees, awnings, or anything with a slope (immediately sliding off of any inclined surface).

**Don Paulo and the rogue Ferris wheel. **During Layton and Laura's side trip to Chicago over the New Year, they come in contact with Don Paulo while riding a Ferris wheel. It is not the Professor's first run-in with a "rogue" Ferris wheel, nor with Don Paulo, but Laura should not be familiar with such events, as she wasn't associated with the Professor at the time. However, she alludes to knowledge of Layton's prior Ferris wheel "experience", and he finds this troubling, especially since Laura maintains she has had no willingness to connect with him or his whereabouts for the past 10 years.

**The solution. **Professor Layton, before heading to Chicago, realizes he has had a method right under his nose to apparently solve all their problems with the investigation. While he doesn't immediately share his solution with Laura, we find that he stays up late in their Chicago hotel, using the page from the Book of Memory…and this is where we are at in our story. What he has found—the connections between untold people—only time will tell.

* * *

**CHAPTER 35: ROCK AND RULE**

_Around 20 years ago_

The Holmes and Chesset Private Academy for Young Minds sat framed by a darkening horizon, a blustery September day threatening rain with every smoke gray cloud that loomed overhead. The air was warm and humid, and very much welcome, as the approaching fall season wasn't yet desired. At least, not by the young students that attended the private school.

A small band of young men, around college age, walked up quickly to the ominous brick building, covered in patches of ivy and surrounded by a thick, green hedge. A few of the boys stopped at about halfway up the walk and examined the building intently, admiring the architecture, while the others continued up to the front entrance.

"Come along now, you prats! We're here for a job, not to admire the get-up of this bloody building, _for_ _God's sake_," the one furthest up the walk yelled behind him. He sported an evergreen flat cap, contrasting terribly with his flaming red mop of curly hair. The mess looked like hundreds of squirming caterpillars under a giant leaf. "I'm not hanging out at a primary school all day!"

The others hurried up the lane, holding onto their own caps as they ascended the short set of front steps.

"Settle down a bit, Louis," one of the boys said quietly as they entered the wide, wooden doors. "I thought you'd like it here, after all. A bit more of your pace, isn't it?" The boy named Louis took a half-hearted swing at his offender, giving him a toothy grin.

"A bit cheeky, aren't you, Hershel? Well, see how you like working with little 8 and 9 year olds for hours. It gets old. This is your first time, so you're a bit smug to start. Wait 'til a couple of months of this. It drags."

"It's just a bit of simple mentoring and tutoring, Louis," another boy muttered, a portly fellow with round, red cheeks. His actual name was Tom, but had to take on his nickname—Porkus—as it was the only thing that boys at the University would call him; he accepted the name, with hidden reluctance. "Hardly anything to fuss over, really."

"Just you wait. You'll all want to run back to the lecture halls… The rest of them know how this is," he said, jabbing a thumb at the rest of the group.

They continued inside the school, walking into a rather opulent lobby, stretching to the sky with cathedral ceilings and thick pillars. They walked down a long hallway lined with staff and faculty office doors until coming to the very end, which was occupied by a large, dark wooden desk. A frail, yet sharp looking middle-aged woman sat behind it, scribbling information unknown onto a thick pad of paper. She looked up briefly when she noticed someone standing in front of her.

"Oh, you boys must be the volunteers from the University. Lovely!" She sat her utensil down and walked around the desk, ushering them to follow her. She led them briskly down a side hall way, the tile floor squeaking under their shoes. "Floors were just cleaned, so be careful. The kids are so excited, they love it when you guys come by." The men all nodded their approval, even if they didn't really mean it. "It really brightens up their day."

The woman opened a door and poked her head in. "Mrs. Purcell? Our visitors have arrived!"

A few gasps and soft cheers from inside told the college students that they were a greatly anticipated item. Hershel smiled, staring absentmindedly at the wall as the secretary removed herself from the doorway and invited them all inside.

'_I almost forgot what it was like, to anticipate so innocently, so longingly…_' he thought to himself as he followed his friends into the classroom. He quickly broke from his reverie as he and the others found themselves staring at a large group of young boys and girls that were just as apprehensive as they were.

"Class!" shouted the teacher, Mrs. Purcell, a middle-aged woman of athletic build. "Surely you will give these lovely students from the University a warm welcome, and will continue to give them your undivided attention for the remainder of their time here with us this afternoon. If you recall, they are volunteering so that we can learn more efficiently. Don't waste their and _your_ time with mindless chit chat!"

It was terribly obvious that the children didn't care about a word that their teacher spoke, as they smiled and bobbed up and down, waiting to be called upon to join the tutors.

"Now then," Mrs. Purcell continued, "I'll be calling each of you in intervals to work with our tutors, but until then, please take out your journals and write about what you hope to see during our field trip this Friday."

Several moans from the group, as well as a ruffle of pages and _click-clacks_ of pencils against the desks. The college boys chuckled as they took up their seats at a large oval table along the side of the room. Louis tapped his fingers against the table surface unenthusiastically.

"This is the part where you just get to wait and hope you get a smart kid. That way, you won't have to teach as much…"

"Don't you want to teach someone something new, Louis?" Hershel asked genuinely, crossing his legs underneath the table. "I like seeing how people light up when their brains take on new information."

"Children do it so well too," said Tom, staring off into space dreamily. "To be a kid again…"

"Goody-two-shoes, the both of you," Louis said, ending in a yawn. "Can't take you anywhere. You'll make me look bad!"

"Not too difficult to do that…" Hershel whispered, slapping Tom playfully on the arm to join in on the jib.

Louis swallowed his anger as the teacher called out a few of the children's names. Ten students grabbed a pencil and a workbook and raced from their chairs to the larger table to sit alongside one of the tutors. Hershel glanced around him at the other college students, getting an idea of how the boys taught. His own young student sat on his left, beaming up at him with a crooked smile and a few missing teeth.

"And what might your name be?" Hershel asked with a warm smile.

"Charlie Q! But my friends just call me 'Q'!" the boy spoke with a loud voice, startling his tutor. Hershel gave a weak chuckle. The boy's exuberance made him a bit hesitant to ask what the 'Q' stood for, and he decided to let his curiosity fizzle.

"I see… And what do you need help with today, Q?"

"Just maths!" The young boy slammed a giant, hardback mathematics textbook onto the table, making the entire thing shudder. Hershel jumped in his seat and gasped as everyone around glanced down the table at the source of the noise, then returned their attention back to their own work. The little boy smiled mischievously, apparently proud that he'd caused a slight commotion.

"Q, let's try to be a bit quieter… Mathematics, huh? Let's have a look…" He opened the book and groaned. "I…never was quite good at this stuff…"

"Me neither," Q muttered sadly, pushing his fingers against each other and making a triangle shape with his hands. "Guess that makes two of us! Now I won't feel so bad about it. Laura makes everyone look bad at maths." He glared minor daggers towards the children's desks.

"Laura?" Hershel asked absentmindedly, trying to quickly comprehend how the book explained fractions to young children. "Well, we'll figure this out, so you'll soon be on your way to being the best in the class! Ha ha."

The boy snorted, then laughed a series of short, sharp giggles. "No, no, sir, you don't understand. But that's okay, you're new. What's your name anyway?"

"I'm hardly worth calling 'Sir'!" Hershel said with some disappointment ('_Am I really that old looking?!_'). "My name's Hershel Layton. And what do you mean that I 'don't understand'?"

"Aw, nothin'. You'll just 'ave to learn it all as you go. Say, let's just do reading instead, since you don't understand those fractions and stuff…'ow old are you anyway?"

"Hey, I understand it!" the college student said astonished, a bit flustered. He was quickly finding that this boy was even quicker with his language.

"Hmm, well, doesn't look like college education is everything!" the boy muttered, smiling triumphantly as his classmates around him giggled. They had looked up from their own work and were watching their class clown run circles around one of the poor tutors, and it made for good sport.

At that moment, the door to the class opened and a tall, lanky man with skinny rectangle glasses entered. He had a tired yet confident smile on his face. Hershel looked up as the treelike man picked out a small girl from the students still at their desks and called her over to him. They left the room momentarily, then returned within minutes. The man gave a short wave at the teacher before leaving.

"That was strange," Hershel said quietly while staring at the classroom door, half to himself, half to whoever wanted to listen to him.

"Oh, that 'appens every day," Q said matter of factly, quickly changing to a mocking tone. "She's gotta go learn accelerated mathematics and all that. She probably just got an assignment or something…"

"Oh really now? Doesn't anyone else do that as well?"

With a small sigh, Louis smirked down the table. "Hershel, don't you know we're here for the _kids' education_, not to just talk it up with them?"

"Just a bit of innocent conversation, really…"

"If you gotta know, that little clever-clogs is like one of those whack-job kid geniuses. Already into beginning high school mathematics." He laughed as Hershel's eyes widened. "Yeah, unbelievable, right? I didn't believe it either…kinda…found out the hard way…."

"If what you say is true…"

"Would I lie to you?"

"He's right," Tom said across the table after sending his student back to his seat, having finished instruction. "She's absolutely insane with numbers. 'Course, they really crank them out of this school, pushing for higher levels of understanding. The school's like the military, but for the brain. Makes Louis there look like a dunce. He hates it when she asks him about mathematical concepts that he's currently reviewing for his own classes. That's why he hates her so much…"

"Shut up!" the red head hissed. "Heard about enough out of you blokes for a lifetime's worth! So what if she could rewrite my mathematics textbooks. The kid's still believing in the tooth fairy. I have nothing to worry about."

Louis almost fell out of his seat when a tiny hand prodded him gently on the shoulder. He inhaled sharply and spun around in his seat, the other guys trying to suppress their laughter at his startled expression.

"Good Lord, you about gave me a heart attack…"

The little girl known as Laura stood quietly holding onto a thick textbook. She knit her eyebrows together. "Mr. O'Leary, if you're not busy, do you know anything about radians? I was wondering if you could help me, please."

Louis grunted. "Well, you're going to have to wait a bit until I finish up with Harold here." He looked down at his current charge, then back up at Laura. "Could take a while. Might wanna ask one of the others."

"If you'd like, I could attempt to help you," the young Layton said with a smile. "I can't make any guarantees though."

The small girl looked at him square in the face, her own expression unmoving, as if saying, "_Yeah right_". She proceeded to do a check of the other college students around the table, summing them up in one quick sweep of her dark eyes.

"Not to be rude, but only Mr. O'Leary can help. He's going to be an engineer. He _understands_," she whispered.

"Well, I'd be glad to try and work it out. Mathematics is a bit like a puzzle after all, and I like to solve puzzles." Hershel attempted to reach out for the girl's math book, but she pulled away, out of his range.

"If you're so good at puzzles, you can solve this one, right? Mrs. Purcell makes us solve a puzzle every morning, so I try to find some at home to practice with. My mother's no good at them; she gave up already, listening to mine. But I read this one just this morning in the newspaper."

"And she reads the newspaper…" Tom grumbled to himself. "Not even most university students do that…"

"Papa forces me." Laura cleared her throat, closing her eyes briefly, as if trying to recall the riddle's words.

"The puzzle is this:

_I mimic you when you talk to me,_

_I echo what you speak._

_Everyone can hear me,_

_even if your voice is weak._

_Not a parrot, nor a monkey,_

_not even a woman or man._

_Without a voice, I can not talk,_

_but with your help, I can._

_What am I?_"

Layton stared at her dumbfounded. He'd been around some of the smartest people he'd ever met during his first year at the University, and he'd paid a great sum to have the privilege of sharing a campus with them. And now, here was a little girl who surely didn't intend to be, but was indeed in the ranking for a real intellectual challenge. Half of him wanted to smugly try to put her to shame, but the other half not only knew better morally, but knew better than to set himself up for shame should she best him.

And she just might best him.

He shook his head quickly, returning to reality as the girl cleared her throat.

"Want a hint?"

"Um, no, I'm….I'm fine…." Hershel's classmates laughed, and he was sure they were laughing _at_ him rather than _with_.

"Told you, Mr. Academia," Louis chided mockingly. "Heh heh, little Miss Teacher's Pet here will most likely be teaching _you_."

Layton could tell the girl wasn't quite picking up on his comrades' poking fun and subtle animosity towards her, so he directed the conversation elsewhere. "Well, I guess I'll have to think this one over, and as for now…just…get help from Louis when he's ready…"

The girl frowned a bit and blinked. "Oh, okay…"

Laura walked away with a twinge of sadness pulling at her stomach. She had told herself earlier in the morning to keep the riddle _to_ herself but…thought maybe the classroom mentors would enjoy it as much as she had. The one with the small eyes seemed kinder and more patient than the others, and didn't talk down to her like the others had been doing, but…

'_Looks aren't everything. I guess even I'm fooled every once in a while…_'

She sat down, disappointed that older people didn't always act older after all, and stared at her homework bitterly.

About an hour later, the classroom wished their tutors a good day, and lined up quietly for their lunch hour. They smiled and waved as the college students left.

Louis sighed, then gave a small whoop when they were out of earshot of the students. "Finally! No better feeling than leaving this place! Reminds me that there is a God."

They walked past the front desk and bid farewell to the receptionist, who was in the middle of talking to one of the students who was just back in the classroom.

"Laura, are you not feeling well?" Tom called after the girl. "You're all packed to go home!"

She smiled meekly, desperately wanting to stare at her shoes, but noticeably forcing herself to make eye contact. She shifted her focus around the group of boys, doing her best to make them all feel invited into the conversation, the sign of a (forced) gracious host.

"I have to go see the doctor for a check-up. Just a check-up."

Louis smirked and gave her a playful salute. "I'm sure you'll ace it fine, like everything else. See you soon!"

The girl waved shyly, turning back to the receptionist. She was startled, turning quickly, when someone spoke at her side. She looked up at one of the new college tutors, a curious expression on her face.

"By the way, the answer is 'microphone'," Hershel whispered with a boyish grin. "To your puzzle? It's a microphone that fits the riddle's description, correct?"

Flushed with a child's happiness, subconscious approval splaying a wide smile across her face, Laura nodded. "Yep, it's a microphone. Wow, you're really smart after all!"

"My sentiments exactly, but not about myself," he said, tipping his hat slightly. "Thank you for the puzzle. Have a good day!"

"You too, mister…mister…" He had already walked a good distance, attempting to catch up with his friends at the front door of the school, when Laura realized she never got his name. She felt a bit of guilt, forgetting her manners and not introducing herself and finding out the tutors' names. But her guilt was quickly usurped as she shrugged, internally feeling something delightful that she'd never experienced before, and wouldn't experience again for almost an entire decade.

'_It's nice to be noticed, even just a little bit…_'

* * *

The knick-knacks—both chintzy and valuable—sat sullen in their static worlds upon the bookshelves and glass cabinets. A few of them were more adept than others at catching the dust specks that visibly floated in the sun's rays. It was terribly obvious that their owner had abandoned dusting duties for quite some time, but what wasn't obvious was the fact that their owner was compulsively thinking about the dusting constantly. And she rued the fact her lack of time prevented a good, solid cleaning.

Professor Layton sat in an office chair that wasn't his, but this didn't bother the chair's actual owner. At least, not at the moment.

Laura scanned the room, itching to clean something, to reorganize or arrange something to perfection. She hadn't spoken to the Professor since she entered her office mere minutes ago. In fact, she hadn't spoken to him much for weeks. With such a quiet length of time, there hadn't been any talk regarding the investigation, nor about the awkward situation back on that cold night in New York that had put an equally chilling stop to any congeniality between the two of them.

Needless to say, conversation was short, patience shorter.

Numb, and with eyes still heavy from restless sleep, she had risen on that first day of the new year to find the Professor wrapped in a robe, sitting at the small desk of their hotel, slouched over the top. His back was to her. Her eyes still stung from her silent, salty tears, dried up and clinging to her lashes, and she blinked.

Quietly, she slipped out of the bed and padded across the floor, carpet squishing underfoot. He was still asleep and laying on a pencil and a blank paper. Ideas ran through her mind. Perhaps he was going to write an apology? She wouldn't accept it, she thought. Maybe he was going to write a bitter complaint? She'd give him what-for, she thought again.

Her potential conclusions died when he stirred, and that was the signal to begin packing.

They'd left Chicago, returned to Stabilnon, and Laura continued her work without so much as a word. The Professor returned to London, earlier than anticipated. He had nothing else left in the small southern town. All the information he needed was tucked safely in the grooves of his brain. It only made sense he would go back…

…if only for the sole reason of feeling responsible for creating a divide between them again.

They hadn't spoken to each other: no phone contact, no indirect news, even through Luke or Flora. Laura was alone in the United States, and Professor Layton came back to happy smiles and open arms of the children. They questioned Laura's whereabouts, but the Professor maintained his position that Laura wished to be left alone until her return. He held to it, but often wondered if he should try to contact her, although he'd be met with defeat.

He was used to that.

Now, her office seemed stuffy and foreign, the girl herself seemed faraway and out of reach. He'd made her build a barrier once more. Mines lay hidden, and he tried to stealthily talk his way around them.

She now stood in front of her own desk, feet stockily spread apart, arms folded across her chest. Her face was permanently set into a scowl, yet it looked more tired and saddened than angry.

"So. What have you come to my office for? To sit in my _chair_? Not that I use it…" she sighed, as if the words were the hardest thing she'd ever have to suffer. "I'm back at square one. In more _ways_ than one, if you must know."

"Well, I'll get to that in a moment. I noticed something interesting, walking around the room." He stood, pushing the chair far behind him before making his way to a large glass case. The shelves' many mirrored surfaces reflected his curious expression, topped by his hat, as his gaze wandered around the many trinkets and plaques. It wasn't long before his eyes navigated to one knick-knack he'd looked at earlier. "This plaque."

"What of it?"

"I didn't realize you had attended Holmes and Chesset Academy. This is an award you received from the school, praising your prowess in mathematics. Seems that's where you received it. It says the name, after all."

She strode up to the case, glowing with pride. "Ah, yes. That was my proudest achievement. Still is one of my fondest memories, getting that recognition…" She drifted to the past momentarily, but was quickly jolted back to the present. "Again, what of it?"

"Well, I used to tutor there, actually."

Laura knit her brows and nursed a terribly confused expression; she might have even let her jaw drop, had she failed to remember couth. "Tutor? Like, recently? As a professor? Why would you ever do that?"

"No, no. When I was a student at university. It was a part of a program initiated by the college to establish a social connection between the students of both institutions. A group of college students would visit the Academy and tutor students in whatever subjects they needed. They were very bright children, so working with students from the university wasn't overkill. And I'm thinking, given our age gap, we would have crossed paths. I'm certain I would have seen you, noticed you or something…"

"You did," she blurted out suddenly.

"I'm…I'm sorry?"

"You were the only one who did. Who noticed. Who gave me the time of day. You solved my riddle." She turned from the glass, from the plaque that had fancy gold script scrawled across it, gloating over her success. None of it mattered to her now. Her eyes were as someone blind, her mouth as someone mute. She stared at the carpet, but wasn't seeing it, and her mouth moved without words. "You were that nice boy on that day. No one else cared. But you listened to me." Her hands darted and pointed, then fell as her voice trailed off, leaving her whisper to hang in the air.

It seemed to come to him more slowly. Realization swept over the Professor with a peaceful calm, an 'Ah, yes' sort of moment. "So I had met you after all."

"Yes! This is…this is strange…it was only that day because I moved up a year after that. We didn't use tutors anymore."

"Hmm, the whole thing; I do recall it vaguely."

Although frustrated at the word '_vaguely_, the girl merely walked circles in front of her monolith desk. How could his mind be so fuzzy? Then again, her memory was beyond compare, and he was an old man (eternally, in her eyes). But the moment two and two were put together in her mind, it hit her like a freight train: they'd somehow met, all those years ago, and were by chance given the opportunity to meet again. It was unbelievable. It was unheard of. It was…

"Fate is a funny thing," was how he broke the silence. "And yet, it wasn't captured."

"_Captured_?" she asked, turning towards him now.

"Yes, by the Book of Memory. When you sent me the page in the post, the first entry was _not_ our meeting back at Holmes and Chesset: it was during our time at Grissom's. Why was that?"

Laura stood quietly, looking a bit stupid, before her eyes blinked a few times. Then, the brainflow. "Well…from what I have deduced from that annoying book, perhaps both people need to realize the event is actually occurring?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, neither of us really committed the detail of our first meeting to memory, did we? After all, how could we? I talked to you as if in passing, and no more. I mean, if all chance meetings and events between people were cataloged in the Book, there would be too many entries to make sense of. It would defeat the book's purpose after a while. Reading through hundreds of mundane entries would be ridiculous. Don't you think?"

As she said it, it seemed to make sense to him, but when she finished…Professor Layton still wasn't so sure. "That could be it. It's a reasonable theory. However, I'm not concluding anything. I'm not convinced one way or the other."

"Well, that's _one way_…so what's _the other_?"

"I…don't have an _other_…"

Laura shrugged. "Well, that's all I've got. Why else would that event not show?"

Again: "I…don't know…"

He felt rather thick for having no idea of his own, but he had a lot on his mind, and this was yet another thing to add to it. He'd learned a lot from his page of the Book, but never had this situation occurred to him. By chance did he see her award plaque. By chance was this connection even brought up. It was another thing he'd have to test…

He went home that afternoon alone, but Laura found her way back to the flat later. Shortly after dinner, the Professor made it known that he had a headache, one bad enough to put him down, and he made his journey to wash up for the night. Laura suggested they switch sleeping quarters temporarily so no late-nighters would disturb him, and for this Layton was delighted. Smiling inwardly, he hastily went to his actual bedroom, grateful to leave the couch, and closed the door. Laura raised her eyebrows, but never thought another thing about it. Was there ever a time she didn't consider him odd?

* * *

The world was apathetic. Was there any other way? Had it ever _been _any other way? It preferred to remain out of "the know"—knowledge of the virtues, the evils, the daily business of man—and went on spinning, turning as it had for millions of years. And its inhabitants busied themselves as they had been doing since the beginning. Living. Thriving. Working, eating, sleeping and waking. Repeat.

White, sterile, interior walls of the large corporate building competed for excellence with the brilliance of colors just on the other side of the lobby windows. Londoners ambled down the sidewalk, admiring the landscaping, taking mental notes of the foliage, only to wave down a cab, race down the road, each citizen on a path to _somewhere_…

Where were they going?

"A mundane, bleak, schedule…for a mundane, bleak creature."

Leopold Chancey stood in a sunlight hallway, glassy window reflections stretching across the tiled expanse. His eyes poured over a chart on a clipboard, his tall, thin frame casting a long shadow. He closed his eyes, and smiled greedily, as if he wanted the schedule to be his despite his insult. "Wouldn't you agree, Laura?"

The girl said nothing, but raised her eyebrows in response, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She followed him down the hall. His gait was proud, confident, and she had to stretch her calves to their limits to keep up with his pace. _He_ was on a path, and he made sure it was no mundane path.

"My dearest Laura. I do apologize, but I have yet another task for you." He stopped and turned to face her, trademark crafty smile still tugging at his lips. "I'll need you present for a big announcement on the 22nd."

"The 22nd? Of this month?"

"Indeed, this month."

"That's Earth Day."

Leopold's features changed for the moment, a genuine smile trying hard to hold back a booming laugh. "How astute of you! Indeed, Earth Day. It's very much important that my announcement is made on such a day. And…you need to be there. Yes, you do."

So much for the smile. His gravelly tone sent shivers down Laura's spine. It sounded urgent, yet threatening at the same time, his voice. She knew she'd have no other choice but to be present, rather than use the opportunity to investigate his private office space in his absence. It was becoming harder and harder, as he spent more and more time alone, cloistered in his office.

'…_he's still on to me_…'

"Of course, sir," she complied, giving a small bow of her head in his direction. "Where else would I be?"

Leopold snorted, smile unwavering. He put his hands on his hips, gold rings glinting against his ivory suit pants. "Your big brain gets you in between rocks and hard places. Let's just keep you occupied at my grand occasion. Only the best of the best will be in attendance, the biggest brains, as well as the biggest pocket books. It's only fitting you should be one of the privileged, no? As far as the brains go, not the pocket books. Correct me if I'm mistaken! Please!"

They continued on their hasty jaunt, finally stopping in front of a secretary's desk. It was empty. Laura watched as Leopold tossed his clipboard on the desk and gave a stifled giggle.

"Well, I suppose I have much to prepare for. You can have the rest of the day off if you want. I'm sure you'll do well to take a short holiday, yes? After your work over in the States, after all, I'm sure you would like a _holiday_." He watched Laura carefully, this time the corners of his mouth playing tug of war with a leer. It made her uncomfortable but she bored him with unwavering eyes.

"I'm too busy for holidays," she droned mindlessly.

He flinched theatrically. "Oh really now?! …but of course. I should expect no less from you, should I? You've been such an asset, really, you have. All for the love of the company. All my grand plans coming together. So beautiful. I do love cohesion."

After a length of time, he decided to be on his way, walked down the hall, and turned the corner. His whistling followed him.

And she was alone. He barely spoke to her, yet when he finally chose to give specific information, they were exceedingly cryptic. Her mind swam as she gawked at the shadow of a cobweb.

'_What in the world could this be about? Earth Day? There's nothing he would have to announce on Earth Day, especially nothing that's earth-saving. He already destroys it by drilling drilling drilling. If there were any advances in acquiring his precious petrol, I would be the _first_ to know about it…he wouldn't announce it to everyone…_

'…_unless it's nothing good he's announcing…_'

It was too much to handle at the moment, and Laura started wondering if he really was just an eccentric after all. She returned to her office to pack her things, heeding Leopold's 'charitable' gift of having the rest of the day off.

Meanwhile, the Professor was wasting no time with his investigation. He didn't care what Dean Delmona thought. A personal day here and there was nothing compared to his discoveries. He only had one more place to secure information.

"Professor, do we _really_ have to go here…? I can't put my finger on it, but this place gives me the shakes and shivers," Luke whined, trailing behind Layton and Flora. It didn't matter; the sidewalk was empty, except for the three of them, so he wouldn't get sucked into a crowd. He kicked a stone hard into the brush.

The girl had no qualms with it. She liked to explore, and she really had never been in a police station. But the boy didn't find mustering around archived files and chatting with uptight bobbies to be the most exciting part of the investigative process. Plus, the basement of the station _was_ a tad bit _creepy_…

Professor Layton chuckled cheerfully. "Seems you'd be more suited to waiting in the lobby? I'm sure one of the detectives will be polite enough to entertain you with some exciting stories about all of the—"

"NO NO, I'M JUST FINE WITHOUT STORIES ABOUT CRIME SCENES," Luke spluttered and stammered, attempting to catch up without losing his lunch. "I'll be just fine…"

"So you _did_ watch that late night program about crime investigations and forensics. Hmm. Interesting." Layton eyed him chidingly, the young boy trying not to giggle nervously through a weak smile. Flora's glare was no better; she'd told him not to watch. But Laura wasn't paying attention that night, the TV was ever-so-conveniently on, so…who would know he snuck a peek?

That was his thought, until he hadn't slept in a week, and it showed with blood shot eyes struggling under the weight of dark bags.

"Well, now that the cat is out of the bag, you'd do best to listen to me from here on out," Layton stated bluntly. "I have some questions to ask of Inspector Chelmey. I'm assuming it will be quick, and I don't expect to find anything, but…

'…_it's worth a try_.'

They walked through creaky wooden doors and approached the front desk. Not a soul was behind the counter, or anywhere for that matter, which Layton found odd.

"That's strange. I wonder where the secretary is?"

"Oh, _no_," Luke groaned, his face in his hands. "Not _you_!"

A girl, about a head taller than Luke, strode down the hall and turned towards them, her thick dark curls bouncing with the same energy as her stride. She first gasped, stared in shock, and then grinned as if she had been expecting them all along.

"_Professor!_ And assistant number two!"

Emmy Altava was quicker than the boy, who felt himself crushed under the weight of the young woman's hug before he could dodge it. Flora was quite taken aback and stepped closer to the Professor, who only laughed. He was surprised.

"Who would have thought? It's good to see you again, Emmy. It feels like eons."

Almost instantly, Emmy let Luke go. She started, as if to do the same bone-breaking to Layton, but she stopped herself short. Her words came out punctuated, the staccato rhythm making her sound like an apprehensive robot.

"It…it certainly does," she managed. "Likewise. It's been a while."

"Why are _you_ here?" Luke asked grumpily. "It's not like we need your help or anything…"

"Oh, who asked you, Luke? Looks like you'll need it soon. Since I am the front desk lady after all!"

"Is this your new job, Emmy?" the Professor said with a chuckle. "Paying dues?"

Beet-red, Emmy's cheeks puffed out indignantly. "If you're insinuating I'm paying for trouble I've caused the police force in the past…then no! That's not the case! But I'll take your joking with a grain of salt, regardless…" She stepped through a side door in the hallway and appeared again, this time behind the desk. "Now then, what was it you needed, Professor? A cage cell for your little mutt there?"

"How _dare_ you call Flora a mutt, Emmy!" Luke screeched. "You were bad before, but now you're just—"

"I meant _you_, No. 2…"

"—the _worst_! Now you're just the worst!"

If the counter wasn't there, Luke Triton might have made himself the first boy-turned-rocket, completely prepared to launch himself at a sniggering Emmy. Professor Layton lightly tapped the boy on the hat.

"I might remind you of our purpose?" Steam released, the boy stuffed his hands in his pockets and glared at the woman behind the desk. "Anyway, I think it would be best if you and Luke, and Flora as well, became better friends. I, on the other hand, would like to speak with Inspector Chelmey. Is he available?"

The young woman checked a chart on the wall, then a calendar. She nodded. "Yes, he's free for the afternoon. Let's go to his office. I—"

"I'm well aware of his office location. I've been here many a time." He tipped his hat in proper fashion, and smiled warmly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind making _polite_ conversation with the children, I'd be most appreciative."

"But I thought we were going to go with you!" Luke blurted out.

"And I thought _you_ were afraid of dusty, spidery files, Luke," Flora said, speaking for the first time. Emmy chuckled.

"No surprise there…"

Shaking his head, Layton left the two in Emmy's care, and made his way down the hallway.

After a few short raps on the door, he heard the gruff voice of Inspector Chelmey welcome him inside.

"Whoever you are, come in."

"Sorry to intrude, Inspector…"

The Inspector remained seated, but a squat bobbie stood up quickly at the sight of the top hat. "Professor Layton! What a surprise!"

"Surprises a' for children at parties, Barton," Chelmey growled. "This is merely a random circumstance. Professor Layton, please come in. Tea's on the table, couch is next to the table, and Barton is _cleaning the table_… Wipe that mess up, Barton, you blithering little…."

Sputtering an apology, the short man grabbed a rag and began grinding it into the table surface.

"That's quite alright, Barton," the Professor assured him. He stepped towards the Inspector's desk. "I intend for my visit to be brief. I merely need clearance to enter the archives."

He didn't think it would be easy. Who could simply walk in and demand to be allowed into the depths of the police's storage of exclusive information on all things suspicious? But the look on Chelmey's face made him wonder if it would be more difficult than he thought…

The Inspector's eyes were angled underneath knit brows, and not a hair on his mustache quivered. His fingers interlaced, he sat his elbows heavily against the top of his desk.

"And what do you 'ope to find down there, Layton?" His knuckles cracked audibly, which made Constable Barton wince.

"Well, that is something I'd also wish to speak to you about, Inspector..."

It wasn't that he was as afraid as Luke about the darkness and spiders and eerie presence that the archives seemed to exude. But something gnawed at the Professor's gut as he descended the staircase behind Inspector Chelmey, Barton trailing behind them both nervously. Did he sense something terrible that he was about to find out?

"So you suspect the Chanceys, do you?" Chelmey chuckled after Layton explained a few details of his quest. After climbing down the stairs cautiously, he reached out for a switch on the wall when they made it to the third and final platform between the flights of stairs. The smell of moldy paper hit their noses before the gift of sight did. A single bulb sleepily flickered on, and they could see the first few shelving units that cased sets upon sets of files. Then Chelmey led the way beyond the limits of the light, around some more bookshelves.

Further down the narrow walkway, the Inspector instinctively reached up into the darkness and tugged on a formerly invisible string. The sheepish light sent a pale glow around the area as the dancing string sent shadows skittering across the floor. It looked like a spastic spider leg, freshly plucked, and then after a few moments, it hung limp, dead.

"It's not that I suspect the Chanceys of anything dastardly," Layton said, breaking the silence. He watched the Inspector nonchalantly flick a web or a spider (he didn't know which) from his hand with a snap of his wrist. Barton jumped back a bit, fearing it would fly onto him, and slammed his shoulder into a loose chunk of papers jutting from a shelf. It sent powdery dust into the air. "I just have a few…disconnects in some of the information I've been given."

"'_Given_'?" the Inspector asked with interest. "Who would be giving you information willy-nilly about the Chanceys, for no reason?"

"Well, of course there's a reason." The Professor began looking at a line of damp, mildewy folders. At the end of the shelf was a label, much like those in a library to help book-searchers with their tome quests. However, instead of a range of numbers, the label was no longer legible, and it was framed by a rusty square of metal. Years of dank air had its way with anything that would let it cling and get a foothold. Professor Layton gave up trying to read the shelves for directions on where to start. "Hmm."

"Which Chancey are we looking for?"

"Edward Chancey the second, and Leopold Chancey."

Inspector Chelmey opened a creaky old filing cabinet and rummaged through limp papers. He produced a yellowed folder.

"All you'd like to know about the entire family. Whatever there may be, anyway. Now, what's your beef with the Chanceys, Layton? Be specific." He was becoming perturbed.

Choosing his words carefully (and without mentioning Laura's name), Layton started his tale. He explained that he had been approached by a former colleague who now worked for Leopold at Petrolite, and told of all that they had experienced: the strange story from the maids in Italy, the odd behavior that Leopold had exhibited by switching from archaeology to gasoline, the always-missing Edward II. He added in his curiosity about the recent deaths of famed archaeologists, including Arthur Thackman. Chelmey took it all in quietly, and only looked at the ground. Layton wondered if he even heard a word he'd said.

Then, the Inspector looked up. "Well, take a look in that file. When you've had your fill, just let Barton know, and he'll turn out the lights."

"But, sir," the constable squeaked. It was all too apparent he hated the place as much as Luke.

"_Sir_ nothing! You 'eard my orders… Wait at the stairs, Barton."

The Professor was going to ask the Inspector's thoughts on the matter, but bit his tongue. As soon as Chelmey ascended out of sight, Layton opened the brittle folder. The contents were as mildewy as the rest of the place, but some pages were obviously newer than others; the shade of yellow was more of a pastel than that of the snot colored older papers. He fingered through the back of the folder first, not finding much more than dry information concerning minor court cases where someone sued someone for something, and the occasional record of a traffic ticket. Other than that, the information was far from juicy.

…until he flipped ahead a couple of pages, and found a file for a 'missing person's' report. He managed to slice his thumb and cursed mildly before removing the page from the folder. He sat the thin file on top of the rusty cabinet.

"This is…this is from _six years ago_!"

Indeed, the report was dated six years prior, and was filed by someone named 'Maybe Chancey'. It sounded almost comical, but the report was genuine. Who this '_Maybe_' person was, the Professor didn't know, nor did he have the foggiest notion of who it could be. As he continued to read, he found out that the 'missing person' in question was Edward Chancey II.

A shiver went down Professor Layton's spine and branched out over prickly skin. The light still cast a dull glow, the bulb still vibrated noisily. His skin still had a pallid, sallow hue. But the air felt more damp and cold than it did when he first came down, and he shivered again.

There was no factual information that pointed toward Edward Chancey senior actually _missing_. For all anyone knew, he was the man behind the scenes, the man behind Petrolite's success. However…this report…

"Why would one person file a report like this? And then end it so soon?" he asked himself aloud.

No answer came, from the surrounding darkness, or from himself. Indeed, the report was filed in April, almost to the date, six years ago, yet the search was discontinued a short four months later. According to the document, searches were conducted—a handful at Petrolite—and the police must have found what they wanted, for no other comments were made, and no other documents were attached to point towards any further police action taken.

Nothing else was done. The search ended. 'Maybe Chancey' must have been satisfied with the results too. No reason not to think so.

No reason other than the Professor's intuition.

He placed the folder and papers back in their proper spot, and turned out the lights himself, much to Barton's delight. The two scaled the stairs, Layton more quickly, leaving Barton huffing behind him. He looked back when he reached the top.

"I think I'll be on my way. I've gotten all I needed."

Barton smiled as he wheezed, his little mustache teetering up and down like a see-saw. "Very good, Mr. Layton!" He saluted. "I hope we've been of some good service?"

"Indeed, you have. Thank you for your time."

He tipped his hat and barely walked away from the archive door when he stopped dead in his tracks. Not far ahead, Laura was quietly relaying something to Inspector Chelmey, her hands clenching and unclenching, flying this way and that. He never thought she'd actually involve the police, but there she was, in the middle of it.

The conversation died off as Laura felt a new presence in the room. She trailed off and looked to the side where the Professor approached. Her eyes softened slightly.

"Oh, hello, Professor," she offered politely.

"Seems you and your former student 'ave a penchant for getting your noses into suspicious activity," the Inspector chortled, the first time he smiled since Layton had been there. He seemed to be at ease now, a stark difference from earlier.

"I—she—how did you—how do you know—" Layton started, undecided on what comment or question to make first. His jaw was slightly agape.

"Don't hurt yourself there, Professor. I _am _a detective, you know. And, besides, it's nothing strange; I've known Laura since she was a screaming whelp of an infant. I know where she went to school and know where you've taught. I'm no dummy."

Laura turned herself fully towards the Professor, hands on her hips. Her grin contained a flood of cockiness, and there was no dam to hold it back. "My father knows the Inspector well. He's like a second father to me. Oh, look at that face!"

All of a sudden, the Professor felt incredibly foreign and ridiculous, and slightly out of the loop. His face became hot.

"I suppose I had no idea…" There was an awkward silence. "Well, Inspector Chelmey, I've finished my business in the archives, and I thank you for all your help. I'll be sure to come back if I need any more assistance." He tipped his hat and eyed Laura carefully from beneath the brim.

It was enough of a signal, and Laura wrapped up her talk with the Inspector while Layton collected Luke and Flora. Jumping up from her post, Emmy came out from around the desk to where the rest of them were standing. Chelmey noisily shuffled away, but not before shooting Layton a curious sort of glance; one that was half-troubled, half-admonishing, and Layton didn't know how to take it. Then he turned away, waving to all of them before disappearing down the hall.

"It was lovely seeing you all again. I hope you got the help you needed, Professor?" Emmy asked sweetly, trying to hold her smile.

He nodded, and felt Laura standing close by. "Indeed, I did. Excuse my manners, I suppose you two haven't met. Emmy, this is Laura Haris, a former student of mine. Laura, this is Emmy. She was my assistant years ago."

It didn't take long for the two women to lock eyes, and…despise one other, to the Professor's chagrin. As her nature would dictate, Laura summed the other woman up instantly, looking her up and down, processing personality and inner thoughts in the matter of a second. Already emotionally shaken from the surprise encounter with the Professor and Luke, Emmy wasn't too keen on _another_ member being adopted into the Layton family, and since the person was a young attractive woman…it didn't sit well with her.

Jealousy was something she was never good at defeating. She didn't know why she was envious. Perhaps it was more that she didn't want to admit that another had taken her place.

"Charmed," Emmy mumbled, holding out a stiff hand. Laura thought for a moment, then responded with a forced grin.

"Likewise," was all she said.

Uneasily, the children looked at each other, then at the Professor, who grit his teeth behind taut lips. Thoroughly disappointed, he glared at Laura, who took the hint and then the other woman's hand.

"I'm sure you know all about the Professor's bland conversation," she guffawed, amending her to-the-point introduction. "I'm sorry you had to assist him."

Despite the children's giggling and Layton's eye-roll, Emmy wasn't laughing. "His conversation wasn't so terrible. It took some brain power, but I'm sure it has been no trouble for you. Has it?"

Lips slightly parted, Laura smiled slowly, ending with a leer leaning towards the demonic (or perhaps insane). Her eyes burned with a lazy anger, one that could spark to action any moment if she was provoked, and Emmy could almost hear her laughing bitterly, sarcastically. She—even _she_—had to admit it was a little off-putting, somewhat intimidating. This Haris girl seemed so frail and petite—a true pushover if she ever saw one—but her aura demanded otherwise. She knew she'd said something wrong, but…Emmy Altava wouldn't admit such things.

"I suppose," Laura began, her eyes never leaving Emmy's, "it might take immense brain power to prepare, motivate, and propel one through the sort of idle conversation that rocks, dust, and holes would conjure up. I am sure I would not have such energy to hold a conducive discussion on archaeology, nor would I want to waste my _brain power_ trying to pretend that I did. Indeed, I have much more important things to waste my brain on.

"I wish you the best of days. Lovely meeting you, Emmy."

Her face phasing from rosy to tomato, Emmy fumed behind puffed cheeks and almost inaudible grunting. And without another word, Laura turned on her heel and ambled out the door somewhat inelegantly, peeved, but satisfied.

"What was all _that_ for?!" Emmy screeched, startling a harried Professor, who had tried to usher Luke and Flora out without causing the volcano to erupt. He saw it was too late. "How _dare_ she! She doesn't even know me!"

"Nor you her," the Professor chimed in, attempting impartiality. "Laura isn't the sort to make friends easily. She's—"

"A _brute_, and brutish gargoyle if I ever saw one! What on earth are you doing associating with such a woman, really?! And what's she got to discuss with the Inspector? I'm going to ask him _this minute_!"

"Emmy, please, it's really…none of your business…"

She already stomped down the hall, mumbling obscenities to herself.

Outside, the Professor sighed.

"I wonder why Laura and Emmy immediately started arguing," Luke asked innocently. "Neither know each other, so…"

"Don't you see it, Luke?" Flora asked rhetorically, shaking her head and grimacing. "I don't know Emmy well, but after talking with her earlier, she—well, maybe I'll just explain it later…" She ended in a whisper and gave Luke a sidelong glance that told him to drop the topic. The Professor walked lazily next to them all the way home without a word, eager to keep the whole thing back at the station.

Back at the flat, Laura was in the Professor's bedroom, the door shut tight. Layton started a kettle of water and sat glumly at the little kitchen table, trying to lose himself in the newspaper. Flora pulled Luke aside before he had a chance to follow his mentor into misery.

"Luke, don't you think Emmy sort of…liked the Professor?" she whispered testily, as if he should have picked up on such a thing.

"_Liked_ him? What do you mean?"

"It was very obvious, when the Professor introduced her to Laura… She immediately hated her. Like, she was a threat…"

"And how would you know about something like that, when you…well…" He didn't want to be rude, but he didn't have any better way to say it. Biting his lip, he thought for a second. "Flora, you haven't really been around social situations enough to pick up on such things, have you?"

Girls really did have an uncanny way of scaring people with a glance, the boy decided. He'd seen Laura's enough to understand when her eyes became poisonous towards the Professor. But Flora…it was a new circumstance.

"It's not _learned_, Luke. It's common sense. And I don't know what happened between any of them, but I think that's what Emmy was feeling, and I dare to say it's similar with Laura.

"Now, I'm going to rest!"

And she shut her room's door as tightly as the Professor's.

* * *

**THE END. ALL DONE. You can review now.**


	36. CHAPTER 36: THE DRILL

**FINALLY! I'm not happy with this chapter! AT ALL! In fact, I hate it! So you might too. I made up my own science. The concepts listed in this chapter probably don't apply to physical earth science, but I thought they sounded believable enough, so….whatever. Don't kill me if you're an engineer/physicist! Actually, if you are, tell me what could make it MORE believable! I tried researching a bit…and using my own brain….but….yeah.**

**A lot of dialogue, but you'll find that out.**

**A big thank you to those anonymous reviewers who are keeping up with the story. I wish you'd make a username so I can answer your questions and reply to comments! :(**

**I'm finishing up the next chapter. Should be up soon….**

**Feeding the squash vine borers inadvertently,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 36: THE DRILL**

"What in the world were you _thinking_?!"

"Not my father."

Hat removed, face flushed pink, the Professor looked on incredulously at Laura. She lay on her stomach, in _his_ bed (which made him more incensed), arms shoved beneath a pillow and her face smashed into it. Carbite had been sitting on top of the young woman's back, nuzzling his multi-colored beak underneath a wing.

"_Laura_," he growled bitterly after he'd entered; only then did the girl turn her neck enough to face him. His loafers were still on his feet as he tread across the carpet.

'_He must really be mad_,' Laura thought, inwardly chuckling (and childishly proud of herself). '_Didn't even take off his—'_

"Did you really need to react that way?"

"Whatever do you mean." Her tone was hardly interested, the apathetic half-question intended to kill any subsequent conversation.

"Back there," he said as he flung his arm behind him, supposedly in the direction of whatever he was speaking about (yet Laura knew very well what he was referring to). "At the station. You know what I'm talking about. It was rude to behave that way to someone you'd just met, don't you think?"

She turned back to the pillow, pushing her face into it. "Hmm. I suppose my tolerance for arrogance has waned. I wasn't _that_ rude, was I? A bit of sarcasm," she managed to proclaim, muffled and quiet against the fabric and fluff. "Anyway, you're not my father."

"That still…" He clenched his fingers around the top hat's brim, his knuckles as white as his barred teeth. "Still wasn't appropriate. Your sarcasm is sometimes lost on some people, and they treat it as rudeness. What in the world were you _thinking_?!"

"Not my father."

And that was where he now stood, her words grating against his ears.

His eyes rolled as a hand flew to his forehead. "Yes, yes, I know…" he mumbled, massaging the tension above his eyes.

"Aren't you a little bit more…_irritable_ than usual?" she drawled on. "The great Hershel Layton is supposed to be this patient, gentle soul. Who talks about old things. And rocks."

"Yes, I understand—"

"And dirt."

"Okay, I get it," came his strained croak (which sounded a lot like Carbite), a feeble attempt to end her babble.

"And," she pressed, "…hmm, yes. And he isn't so snappish." Her eyes closed lazily, her lips still mouthing inaudible words.

Topping his brown head with his hat, he sat heavily on a corner of the bed—which made the bird let out a grumble and lift himself to the top of a bureau across the room—and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know why. I'm just…stressed."

"Hmm. You don't carry yourself well while stressed," she droned. "Was that too rude for you as well?"

He answered with a burdened sigh, the release not making his chest any lighter. "Do you want to know what I found out?"

"I did wonder…why you were at Chelmey's hangout. Hee hee."

"I found out that I can't have two very headstrong women cross paths."

Sitting up, Laura cackled. "I don't want to cross paths with _anybody_, man or woman. And I expect they wouldn't want to cross mine either… Now really, what did you find out?"

There was no attempting to be brief: his findings were mediocre and quick to recall as they were. He told her about the dank basement, the file, and the missing person report.

"It was filed by '_Maybe Chancey_'? What in hell does that even _mean_?" the girl whined, hoping for a better story. "That's all…?" He nodded. He rubbed his eyes again. "Well, that doesn't tell us much, other than I'm guessing Edward Chancey senior was found. Otherwise, why would they call off the search?"

"We can't assume that, but it seems that way. Laura, I…" There was a pregnant pause, Laura looking at him with bated breath as he shook his head. "I don't know where this is all going. Where else can we look?"

"W-What?"

"I'm honestly at a loss. I'm…just not sure what to do, what _more_ I can do…to help you. There's so much on my mind that… Well, sometimes it feels like there's nothing really that we should be worrying about."

In that moment, Laura felt her stomach drop. A stone—all her worries, misgivings, and fears condensed—fell from her heart to her toes as realization of his words hit her with the force of a tidal wave: he was giving up.

"How…how dare you." Tiredly, his eyes rose to meet with hers. She walked across the bed on her knees and half-staggered, half-fell off the side to stand in front of him. "You're giving up?"

"No, I…not exactly, it's just I don't know where else to go. Each path is a dead end."

"_You _of all people! You said you'd help me!" Her face was red and her eyes were hot coals. They burned through him, despite instantly feeling her judgment washing over his conscience.

"Laura, I'm not—"

"Just because you hit dead ends! Do you even know what could be going on here?!"

"Please, Laura… For a moment, think: there's no physical evidence of anything illegal. As far as Leopold's actions go, couldn't you possibly be overacting?"

That word… She worried about that herself, misjudging due to paranoia. Would anyone else go this far to prove something so intangible as perked intuition, flared suspicion? It seemed she was all alone now in her questioning.

Overreacting.

_Overreacting_. Chelmey had said it, but was seemingly starting to listen a little more than the first time she approached him. With the Professor also inquiring about Leopold's background, however, she hoped the Inspector would have a little more reason to believe what she was saying. Yet now the Professor was having doubts…

…but Laura knew better.

"I want you to see it."

"W-What?" He was still waiting for an answer to his question. "Didn't you hear me, I asked—"

"I _want…_you to see it," she repeated, more urgently, almost begging.

"See what?" his voice grumbled. He was becoming impatient.

She gesticulated with her hands held out, as if offering him a gift, then widened the gap between them, as if measuring an invisible object in midair. "When you see the size and scope of this drill, maybe then you'll see that there's something else going on here. We're beyond archaeology and oil, Hershel." Suddenly, her gaze changed as her already dark eyes became twin abysses, void and cold. Her voice threatened to break, and became more brittle as she spoke. "This is beyond eccentric fancy, the dreams of a rich boy with more money than he knows what to do with. You'd first stoop to wiping your ass with gold leaf before investing in a machine like this. There're more practical things to blow money on, more reasonable things the mind would come up with. That is what I'm saying."

It was a route not yet approached. Indeed, she had never shown anyone the drill. Only her, Leopold, and a few maintenance personnel had delved as deep into the earth as the giant mechanism itself had. The Professor realized this, and immediately the torch of curiosity was again lit.

"I suppose…that's the only thing we haven't done!" he exclaimed with a smile. "How…how very foolish of me…"

He looked at her and grinned. Genuine. It was genuine. Mere seconds ago, he secretly wanted to be done with it. Abandon the search, forget all he'd learned from the places they'd visited, throw away-no, _burn _that _blasted_ page that had revealed so much to him, and tormented his thoughts longer than what was welcome.

…yes, it had tormented. He'd found out more than he wanted to know from a page that was seemingly empty. And yet there was _so much more_ to learn…so many connections and bridges between people, parallels between events. The page was a constant temptation, and was extremely time consuming.

If only time allowed. Keeping track of investigations and research and classroom agendas was beginning to wear on him, not to mention the emotional upkeep of his own relationships. Or—he briefly flashed his eyes towards Laura—lack thereof.

When he fully came back to his senses, Laura was gaping at him, as if a spell had been cast and made her nerves slack, her mind numb.

"What?" he asked with a laugh.

"Foolish is an understatement," was all she had for him, and she left the room without another word.

* * *

Three and a half miles from the English coast, amidst salty North Sea waves, rose two structures, side by side. One resembled an airport observation tower; the other, an oil rig of atypical design. Against the azure sky and gray sea, they seemed to have been placed haphazardly. Indeed, it was as if a giant child had decided to use the city for his own amusement—picking up and moving buildings wherever he pleased—and left his toys jutting out of the choppy water.

To the naked, untrained eye, the rig was a messy collection of platforms, pipes, and staircases that sat atop a cylindrical base; it was a city built on a poisonous barrel. Its neighboring structure was a resort at sea, originally used to house the workers that would spend weeks, months out on the platform. A single deck circled around the tower-like structure near the top, far enough above the ocean to avoid the brunt of the sea spray. Surrounded by railings, it was an observation platform of sorts, and beyond the metal bars were windows with a height taller than the average man. They started at the floor of the deck and went to the very top of the building. Just beyond the tinted glass was an opulent office, reserved for one man; to the owner of the place, it was the throne of a king. And Leopold considered himself just that.

He often split his time equally between this office overlooking the ocean—complete with a clear view of coastal cities (he swore if he squinted hard enough, he could see London)—and his London office. Lately, as Laura had noticed, he was spending more time in his place out in the middle of the water—conveniently (as he most likely saw it), away from prying eyes and anxious ears.

However, Laura was always listening. And always watching.

The growl of the Laytonmobile turned to a sputter and then to silence as the Professor pulled the key from the ignition. He parked in an unkempt lot near the shore. Little patches of weeds and broad-blade grasses creeped through cracks and broken patchwork across the gray concrete; it looked like a badly graphed map, the twisted, green pathways running this way and that until the parking lot blended into equally uncared-for lawn.

"This place looks deserted," Luke observed, jumping out from the back of the car after Laura and the Professor had already exited. Flora followed suit.

"Hmm, but the ocean breeze is so calming," she sighed, closing her eyes. "I wish we'd go to the coast more often…" It wasn't often they came near the coast, and this place looked inviting. "I've always wanted to go to Southend-on-Sea!"

Not hearing a word, Laura started walking, expecting all to follow her lead. She beelined towards a small dock; it stretched its single limb out far enough to allow a motorboat to be safely moored. As they walked towards it, the salty mist gathered on their faces, giving them shiny cheeks and noses.

"Okay, so let me inform you of how this works, what you can expect." Her throat grunted as she cleared it, and she crossed her arms with an air of haughtiness as thick as the breathable saline. Her role was now knowledgeable informant. "I'm going to show you the drill chamber, but to get there we're first taking a boat." She jabbed a thumb towards the ocean. "I'd like to use the helicopter, but…that's much too obvious."

"You can manage a boat?" the Professor asked warily, his smile more sarcastic than supportive.

"No, I thought I'd just hop in and give it a go without any sense of what I'm doing," she scoffed, beginning to prepare the vessel. "Would you give me some credit? Thanks. Now let's get a move on!"

Their seats were only taken briefly as the ride only lasted around fifteen minutes. Laura made sure to seat the children in the safest of spots, and the Professor in the dampest. She took extra care to hit the choppy waves just so, the water spurting up at the signature top hat as if it was marked with a bulls-eye.

'_If I had half a mind, I'd think she was doing it on purpose,_' he thought grimly to himself, avoiding another splash of brine. _'My hat's going to pickle if this keeps up!_'

They arrived at the observation tower, and the little boat bobbed gently after Laura secured it to the base of a staircase. It was their only way up to the main platform, so they began their ascent, leaving the motorboat behind.

"I hope the boat doesn't float away," Flora whispered to Luke, who grimaced when he realized they'd be 'shipwrecked' should that happen.

"_Professor_," he hissed, clutching the tail of Layton's coat. "The boat's going to float away. Look at it being tossed around like that…!"

Before the Professor had a chance to analyze the sense of foreboding that nipped and clawed in the back of his head, Laura had entered a code on a rusty, metallic keypad and was already opening a beat up metal door. Salt and wind had dulled the shine, and crust had developed around the frame. The group entered a cramped space, a narrow room lined with more metal, this time, untouched by salt. The floor was grated (metal) tiles, and the walls were lined with hammered gray (metal) sheets. On the (more metal!) ceiling, a single bar of florescent light cast a dull glow that reflected gently off the surfaces.

Along the walls were three points of access: two elevators, each with a different destination, and one door that led to a hallway. Small, simple maps were nailed to the right of each elevator, indicating where the lift would eventually lead.

"So we're going…all the way down?" Luke questioned, disbelief drowning his trust. "I just don't see how…"

"Well, not as far as the thing _could _go, but we're going down a rather decent amount," Laura corrected, walking to one of the elevators.

Finally, the lift arrived, and all piled in. It wasn't like a normal elevator, as the other one was. The door was not two metal rectangles meeting in the middle, but instead was a lattice-like fence that squeaked and protested as it was stretched shut; the walls of the thing were similar, but were unable to be moved as the door. There was just enough room, and if any one of them were to move—risking a poked hand or a knee through the gate—they'd easily find themselves grated like cheese against the chute.

"Keep close, Flora," Professor Layton murmured to the girl, who clung absentmindedly to his jacket. Luke eyed the walls with a childish apprehension, trying his best to hold his body towards the center without crowding. With a jolt, the elevator began its descent.

"Yes, mind your limbs and extremities," Laura chortled, her voice vibrating as the vessel buzzed against the shaft. "This is the workers' elevator. There's a nicer one, but it's not big enough for all of us."

"This one's hardly big enough!" the Professor said loudly, above the din of scraping metal. "I can't imagine a smaller one!"

"Stop your whinging. We'll stop once we reach a specific depth. We need to adjust to the pressure, so…"

"Adjust to the pressure?" Layton repeated as a question. The girl merely smirked at his ignorance, her cocky grin barely visible as she snuck a giggle behind her hand.

"Well, you can't expect to just dive right in, do you? We're going pretty far down into the earth. The pressure down here is _immense_. We aren't going down _too _far this time, but if we were, we'd have to wait in quite a few chambers at certain intervals so that our bodies can adjust. It's the same coming back up. Otherwise…well, you don't want to know what happens when the gases in your blood expand too quickly." She flashed her teeth and chuckled. Flora's face was tinged a pale green as she thought more and more about what expanding gases in her veins would look like.

'_I'd rather not know_,' she ended the thought, nauseating herself too much.

"To put it simply," Laura continued, "the closer you get to the earth's core, the hotter the air becomes. So, for us to be comfortable down here, we have to cool the air, right? Cooler air is considerably denser than warm air, thus, there's more pressure down here. But that's not the only reason there's more pressure. The further we descend, the more the surrounding earth is pushing on the walls, the hallways…everything. So we have to keep the internal pressure high enough to keep the walls from crumbling in."

"Hmm, that makes sense, I think," Luke muttered, trying to scratch his head.

Flora arched an eyebrow. "Really? I thought it was quite complicated…"

"Well, okay, maybe not _much _sense, but…," the boy grumbled testily. "Geez, Flora…"

"It's okay, Luke. It's a bit complicated, especially for young minds," the Professor chimed in, salvaging the tattered remains of the boy's pride.

"All you need to know," Laura began again, "is that air is pumped in constantly to ventilate—there's no air flow otherwise—and to apply a force that helps hold up the walls. The caliber of this system is the first of its kind. It's a spar platform that extends to the ocean floor…and beyond. Who do you think came up with the design? Heh heh…"

Professor Layton nodded. He really wasn't all that surprised, truth be told. But agreeing wasn't enough for her intellectual ego, as Laura continued to spew out a lengthy lecture about petroleum engineering (it became apparent after a few minutes that she designed close to 90% of the entire structure). Several minutes and thousands of feet later, her explanation ended, the elevator stopped as if on cue, and Laura opened the gate. They entered a sterile-white room with simple chairs and a low coffee table in the middle. Outdated magazines and a yellowed newspaper served as a makeshift tablecloth. The space felt like any other ordinary room, except that the air was noticeably heavier than the air accompanying them in the chute (or had they merely neglected the change of pressure?). Then all of a sudden, the room sealed itself off as an automatic door slid across the entrance with a sucking sound.

"Good thing we're not claustrophobic," Flora said feebly, wringing her hands. "It's harder to breathe than out there. And my ears are popping…"

"That's natural. And for ten minutes, just sit and wait," Laura said, motioning to the seats. "It'll start to feel a bit cooler, and you'll be able to breathe better as you adjust. I promise."

"How far down have we travelled?" the Professor asked, rummaging through the papers on the table.

"About 10,000 meters."

"_Honestly!_" Layton exclaimed, his interest piqued. He didn't mean to react so exuberantly, but such matters drove his curiosity. While his field dealt with digging on the land, the ocean was still new to him. The mechanics of it…perhaps he could make an appointment out of it and hear all Laura had to say. All for another day, he decided.

Laura nodded, giving him a scowl. "Honestly. We'll have to do this one more time before we can stop…"

The air easier on their lungs, they exited into another elevator and continued the routine once more. The ride ended, they acclimated again, and then emerged into a long hallway. As soon as they stepped foot onto the gray tiles, the lighting sprang to life, and electricity raced along the ceiling. The flooring wasn't gray after all, and the cream tiling and sealed concrete walls shimmered as the group moved.

Several doors dotted the walls on both sides, but Laura led them through the one closest to them on the right.

"And here's the fun part," she said with an airy sigh, as if recalling some enchanting memory. If she were the romantic sort, perhaps a first love?

'_Unlikely,_'Layton muttered internally, answering his own ignorance as he snorted at her dramatic expression. Laura ignored him and proceeded to laugh lightly.

"Kids, this is my lifework…"

"Yes, because you've been alive and engineering for so long," Layton scoffed quietly to himself as she threw open the double doors with a shove of her hands. Her jargon throwing and constant yammering were beginning to find their way beneath his already thin skin, and for what it was worth, he was starting to feel under-qualified.

Perhaps it was all justified. What he saw shoved the words right back into his mouth and down his dry throat.

The chamber was vast—a large cylindrical space about 200 meters in diameter with a narrow pathway (only two extremely lean people could walk abreast) lining the circumference. In the middle of the giant circular room was the dark pit, a black emptiness that challenged midnight. Somewhere below—hundreds and hundreds (in reality thousands and thousands) of meters below—was the drill itself, already having completed a portion of its route during testing months prior. It sat still now, but was preparing to further its path, ready and at attention to crack open uncharted territory.

At the top of the barreled space was the ceiling, a behemoth of a dome, cold concrete molded perfectly into a spherical cap. A wide pipe came down from the apex and continued down into the hole beyond sight; not much could be seen anyway. Save for softly glowing LED lights caged in wire-frame boxes along the perimeter, it was very dim and bleak. Sound also seemed to be swallowed up by the cavernous mouth. Only little creaks of metal and ticks of pipes could be heard, but they were suffocated by the deafening silence.

Luke and Flora broke first. They walked up to Laura's side as she held onto the railing, looking fondly down into the abyss as if she longed to be down there instead of on the platform.

"This is amazing!" the boy called out first, hardly able to contain himself; he desperately wanted to hear his voice echo. It bounced around briefly with the energy of a flat basketball and fell down with the drill. "It's enormous!"

"If I were to fall…" Flora mused somewhat gravely as she looked over the bar, clammy hands gripping for support. Her mind raced as vertigo began swirling her vision. The Professor broke from his stunned reverie and took notice, pulling her back.

"That's quite enough, Flora," he croaked, forgetting how to speak. Speech failed him as he gaped and gazed, switching from admiration to fascination—and somehow ending with _realization_ of something dire. "Laura, this…"

She turned, her eyes wide and catching what little light was cast. "_This_ is the drill. The 'little, petty' drill that hungers for petrol. Nothing too fancy, is it? Digs down deep, siphons the oil through the pipe…we're reaching depths no one ever has! This is officially the deepest reaching advanced spar platform in the world. Fascinating?"

"'Devastating' is more like it," said the Professor. It only took him a moment's gloss over. He didn't need any more confirmation on whether or not to proceed with investigating, although he dared to step forward and peer into the black anyway.

"Don't you want to walk around the perimeter? Or…are you afraid of heights?" she cackled dryly.

"I'm _afraid_ we're out of time," he said pointedly, arching his thin eyebrows. "Don't forget that I have classes to prepare for."

"Aw, come on, Professor!" Luke pleaded, clasping his hands together as if in mock prayer. "Let's walk around!"

"Let's go see the actual drill!" Flora squeaked from behind the boy. It surprised the Professor, and Laura took up the chorus as well.

"Well, the drill is encapsulated by a path-guiding structure, so you won't actually _see_ it. But I can take you as far down as its gone so far." She nudged her teacher with a firm hand. "You know you want to. Heh heh…"

She knew she was triumphant, her will done, when Layton sighed and shook his head. "I'm going to be so behind with my schedule. I don't want you to ever say that I never do anything for you, Laura," he grumbled under his breath.

With a wry smile she collected the children with loosely outstretched arms, corralling them towards the door. "Let's proceed! I haven't really had a chance to show my pal off."

Confused at her choice of pet name for the machine, Layton trailed behind the rest of them as they made their way to another elevator. Another decompression chamber. And yet another elevator.

After they reached a depth of around 30 kilometers (and the Professor began to feel that he might scream if he had to sit in another room with his ears popping), Laura led them down a dim hallway, the last path to their final destination. One of the ceiling lights flickered eerily near the middle.

"Meant to get that fixed…" the young woman said as she suddenly turned to the right and shoved open another set of double doors. When they were at the top of the drill's cylindrical pipe, there was no notable scent, but this time a pungent smell burned their nostrils. It was both chemical and organic, like an emulsion of rotten eggs, lighter fluid, and wet dirt.

"What is that smell?" Flora wretched, her dress sleeve pulled over her hand, both of which flew to her nose. "It's already giving me a headache…"

"That is sour crude oil—the unfiltered and unprocessed kind of petroleum in the earth—and the actual _burned_ petrol needed to run the drill," Laura explained. "A bit of molten rock and maybe some dirt too. Mostly rock, but…I digress."

The glow of the hall faded away behind them as they continued through the gray doors and into darkness. Tiny floor lights sleepily sparked along the grated walkway with the energy of dying embers, ensuring them that electrical power still could guide even at such a distance from civilization. Now they stood in a chamber similar in shape to the one they were in before, except this time they weren't staring down at nothing; _this_ time they were confronted with a cavernous room. They only knew this by the echo of their footsteps as it clattered past their ears and never hit a ceiling, only continuing to rattle onward into nothingness. There was also a massive _something_ in the middle of the area that seemed to begin at the black floor and rise to an undeterminable height; its shape was discernible only by the lit-up buttons and computer panels that curved around the surface, which resembled a can.

The Professor, his eyes wide open in hopes of allowing in any extra beam of light possible, held tightly onto Luke and Flora's shoulders. He kept them walking straight along the path behind their only guide.

"My word…" he whispered. Whatever he was looking at was beautiful in its own right, the darkness that shrouded the room both stifling and alluring. Little whirring sounds cranked from the giant tower, becoming louder as they approached. Metallic clinks and the purring of gears echoed around the chamber, unlike the deadened sounds up at the top of the chamber, which seemed to be swallowed as soon as they started. Maybe it was the aura of the place… Something dark and powerful oozed through the black.

His thoughts were cast aside as Laura began speaking.

"And this…is who we really came to see."

A flick of a switch on the wall, and hundreds of boxes buzzed to life with a burst of electricity, the glow broadening, the light racing up the column until it reached a height beyond what was comfortable to view properly. Their vision now clear, the gift of light revealed a gargantuan machine—presumably, the drill—surrounded by circular platforms and metal step ladders that helixed up, up, up and into the beyond.

Laura stepped forward and turned towards the Professor and the children, the machine behind her. She lifted up her arms, palms up, as if presenting the feat of engineering to a potential business partner willing to invest in her product. "Let me introduce you to my greatest creation, painstakingly named '_PERSEUS_': The '_Petroleum Extraction and Removal from Subterranean Earth Utilization System_'."

"The…_what_?"

"Yes, Leopold is a bit dramatic… Wishes to turn the opposition to stone, much like Perseus did to various creatures with the Gorgon head of Medusa. So. It's name is Perseus. Try making a better acronym out of _that_, and I'll eat my knickers."

Layton looked from her to the machine, his eyes roving over every inch of metal, every button, every screen and keyboard unit mounted into the giant cylinder. It was expertly manufactured, enough to make his knowledge-seeking mind hungry for how it worked, yet its sheer size and mysterious function…it was foreign enough to make him wary. A power exuded from the thing as if it possessed a soul, as if it were a living being with a conscious mind—greedy and hungry, willing to get what it wanted, no matter the cost. He wasn't usually the emotional sort, but he imagined some powerful conductor orchestrating an appropriate theme for the sinister contraption.

Surely, he thought, it deserved it.

'_Just what are you, Laura…_?'

Luke's mouth was dropped, and Flora's jaw was nervously approaching the same dumbstruck gawk. "It's…it's…both awesome and incredible…isn't it, Professor?" the boy whispered.

Flora countered with, "I think it's a bit monstrous." She didn't care much for gears and metal and oiled up parts, despite the fact she'd unknowingly cared for machines all her life.

Letting her arms fall to her sides, Laura managed a shy smile. "Well, Professor? What do you think? I can explain how it works. If you want." Her tone changed. She said it all so sheepishly, so modestly; as if she were both proud and ashamed, fighting for which one she was supposed to feel. It was a response typical of a Laura ten years ago, an honest sight the Professor hadn't seen in some time.

"I…don't' think that's necessary at the moment. Later would be more appropriate. But this is—_truly_—amazing." He looked up again, feeling himself go cross-eyed and dizzy, then back down to the petite girl dwarfed by her own invention.

'_It's an unwritten rule that teachers shouldn't favor any one of their students, but...I think her genius is rather—_'

"Thank you," she exhaled suddenly, and she walked past all of them as if embarrassed. "That's all I have to show now."

Layton eyed her briefly through a scrutinizing lens, but let the moment pass with a nod.

They returned through the door almost as quickly as they had entered, the children running ahead towards the pressurizing chamber. Luke kept looking behind at the two adults, a curious expression on his face. Laura was unsure what the child was thinking, but she could tell he wanted to say something. However, she used her fortune of a tête-à-tête and turned towards the Professor.

She started softly, "Since you seem to believe me now…"

He frowned. "It's not that I didn't believe—"

"—Leopold's making an announcement on the 22nd," she said hurriedly. "At some annual petroleum and engineering expo. Something like that. A bunch of business moguls, engineers, and a scattering of environmentalists show up, I believe. I blew off the details because I was preoccupied with Leopold's motives." She paused and made sure he was paying full attention. "I'm supposed to show up, but…I don't feel good about it."

Layton looked ahead to make sure Luke and Flora were occupied with something other than their conversation. "What do you expect him to announce?"

"Well, if you didn't suspect him of anything and only knew his personality, you'd at the very _least _expect it to be something egotistical; claiming my work, perhaps? I wouldn't doubt it, but since we suspect more than him being a big jerk…I'm not expecting it to be anything good. He was very vague about it. And since the time up until this little event is the only time I _know_ he won't be here in his office, as he'll be preparing a speech, I'm going to sneak in and try to find something. It's my last opportunity."

The Professor showed a calm exterior, but frustration surged in harsh undertones when he spoke. "We should have done that _sooner._"

"I had no _chance_," she hissed, speeding the conversation along. "You never thought to come here either. Look, I don't know why either of us isn't on top of our game, but early in the morning of the 22nd, I'm coming back here to search. I would…appreciate any help you could offer."

"Well," he laughed, "isn't that what I promised to do?"

"Yes, but…" She stopped as they began their ascent to normal air and pressure.

By the time they found themselves back at the car, evening had arrived in a surly mood (Laura wasn't surprised, as she often felt the weather seemed to be influenced by her _own _mood, as theatrical as that was to believe). Dust-colored clouds churned as they rolled in, and the air had become heavy with humidity. The ride home started out with mild conversation, Luke asking about Laura's expertise, how she could invent such things; Flora adding in comments here and there, asking how she got to be so smart (and Laura encouraging Flora that she could amount to the same end, if only she'd study). Layton expected his former student—whom he knew better than anyone—to be haughtier after showcasing the fruits of her intellect, but Laura was too mentally busy to even feign arrogance.

Then the children in the back seat became quiet; Flora drifted off first, then Luke. The boy snored lightly after a few minutes.

"So you'll help me then," Laura said, looking for final confirmation. The Professor cleared his throat. He clearly wasn't expecting any conversation, Laura decided.

"Yes, Laura, I'm sorry for having any doubts." He removed his eyes from the road briefly to turn and flash a smile. "I know how you feel about trusting me, but you have my word. We'll finish this off properly. That's what a gentleman does."

"Mm." She'd almost forgotten those words. "I feel we're close to something. I intend to expose whatever it is soon. But with you along for the ride… Two heads are better than one, after all." She smirked, drumming her fingers against a throbbing knee.

"Even," she sighed, "if one of them is brainless."

* * *

**END.**

**PLEASE don't forget to review. I want to make this story good. Is it lacking? What? TELL ME.**


	37. CHAPTER 37: ALL THAT IS GOLD

**I really hate this chapter. It didn't come out how I wanted, but I can't try anymore to make it worthy. There may be several mistakes. Let me know. I'm too anxious to get to the exciting stuff (next chapter, I promise!).**

**A DEATH?! WHAT?**

**Anyway, please don't forget to review. I hate people favoriting/following, and they don't say anything.**

**Obsessing over Shingeki no Kyojin,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 37: ALL THAT IS GOLD**

**10 Years Ago  
**Half of her wanted to run back; run back through the dusk, run back through the screaming of her parents, forbidding her to leave so late (especially after rejecting dinner). Run back to a proper apology that would set everything straight, suture the lacerations of such razor-sharp words, still grating her ears.

But the other half of her knew better, and it was furious. Hurt. Broken and demolished, her confidence and trust in her best friend—_no_, in _everybody_—was razed to the ground. Amidst the tears, she'd fought with herself. _Was I too brash? Too narrowminded?_ _Should I go back and talk it through like a rational adult?_

No. There was nothing that could take back such a thing, nothing that could be said as a remedy. She'd given something away she couldn't get back, and invested in something else that would never pay dividends.

She'd just finished her last final and felt no sense of accomplishment. All of the studying, falling asleep on books, drooling on notes, felt meaningless. Students walked past her, professors pushed towards their offices to rush in a last grading, and the world was a blur. Her hand was on her messenger bag's strap, but she still let it sag messily across her chest while continuing her stiff and slouching gait down the hall. Who cared. They'd all just think her joints were tense from exercising or something. Her eyes saw grays and blues and hazy reds, but she didn't bother making out shapes or faces; her surroundings were as misty as the distorted fog in her head, and she was too nauseated to try making sense of that either.

The stand-in professor of archaeology walked out of a classroom to her right and locked the door behind him. He was a wispy man, tall and grasslike, swaying where the crowd blew him. His hair was as errant and flighty as the final had been, nothing like Professor Layton had alluded to. Maybe he'd lied about its difficulty all along; she didn't doubt it. After all, she'd been the laughing stock of _that_ whole game for the past term. What was one more prank?

'_Stupid idiotic course… If this school didn't pride itself on a stupid liberal arts curriculum, I would have never taken it, never met him…never met him…_'

She took the same route home that she had taken since her first day of classes. Millie cackled with her troupe of jesters, each clown breaking from the others as they walked, each going home to her respective circus. How many times had she watched this scene? How many times did she comfort herself with the thought of possibly taking an early right, and heading instead to a 'study session'?

Not today. Not _any_ day.

She'd considered not going back to school after he'd dismissed her from his life, but fought against the urge. The night blanketed her as she cried herself to sleep, waking up every half hour from a dream where she would chase after a man she couldn't catch, and every time he'd turn to face her…it was _him_. And then he'd disappear, turning back towards ether, dissipating into black.

And that very next day, all of the Professor's belongings were transported to his new place back in London; she'd watched the lorry take it all away. When everyone and everything was gone for sure, she tore up the long cobblestone path that led to the creaky porch that she knew so well, and with her hand on the door knob…

Did she expect it to be unlocked?

So that was it. He and his things were back in London, moving on to the future, while she stood on the old house's rickety door step, stuck in his past. The bridge of her nose became hot and her eyes flooded. Face contorted, she inhaled painfully, doubling over in agony as her resolve gave out; she _would not_ make a sound, she told herself. She dared not look at her screwed up face in the door's glass; she _would not_ look ruined, she bellowed internally. But there was still the smarting pang of tenderness between her legs that reminded her about her folly, as much as the anguish in her mind that she had no one else to talk to; to lean on; to look forward to seeing… Who to share life events with? Who to laugh and learn with?

That was the day after she'd felt betrayal, in its rawest, purest form. Now, since her first year was over, she recited a voo doo-like mantra as she walked past that street, as if no one important had ever lived there. She didn't need a reason. She didn't need logic and a rationale. But what she _did_ need was something to dig her resolve into. And as someone who habitually found it difficult to adapt and cope with change, she greedily guarded the last bit of a sane foundation that she could manage.

Laura Haris made a promise to herself, if only for herself.

'_I will never offer forgiveness to Hershel Layton, even if he begs for it_.'

* * *

**Present Day  
**Leopold reminded Laura _once_ about his 'speech'. She thought that perhaps he'd not really wanted her there after all, and her brain conjured up a fantasy where none of the events of the past two-thirds of a year occurred: no paranoia about employers, no strange stirrings of intuition, no devious plots paired with investigations…and _no_ break of her hiatus with the Professor.

But then the Chancey heir to the oil empire waltzed into her office unexpectedly, his eyes manic with excitement. His dark espresso strands were slicked back with the professionalism of a rattish car salesman; his vanity, however, rivaled that of a king. If she had the luxury of privacy, Laura would have rolled her eyes.

'_Red carpet roll out…_'

"Almost the big day!" he said loudly, slapping a fat folder onto her desk. It wasn't usual for him to prance and croon while delivering quarterly reports. The sing-song tone was new, Laura noted; the glint in his eyes—typically a dull sapphire, today a bold lapis lazuli—was not.

"Yes, indeed, sir. Any chance that we know the theme of the presentation? Is your uncle going to be there as well, making a speech? Hopefully _I'm_ not expected to _present_ or _talk_," she tried, hoping to make a catch with cheap bait.

"And you will be there," was all he said. It was more of a demand than anything.

Really cheap bait, Laura thought as she silently conceded. It was bold of her anyway. Why would she mention Edward II in passing, so randomly? She never made mention of him before, so why now? It wasn't as if he were a visible, public pillar of the company…

She stared at him with a vague expression, while underneath she was as nervous as a bag of rabbits. "Yes. I'll be there. Without fail."

"Oh, I love _everything_ 'without fail'. No hiccups means no revision. And no revision…means there's no Plan B!"

He gave a curt wave and was gone.

April 22nd came as any other day, except that Laura awoke at 4 AM with a massive headache. She'd been up all night and had in reality only slept for two broken hours. It felt more like a nap than a nightly commitment to resetting the body. Since dinner the night prior, she spent her night contemplating (as she had been for months), running potential happenings through her head. Now, though, she felt like time had run out. The day had arrived, and she was nowhere closer than she was when she started.

'_Maybe Leopold is really the head of a rival company, and he's been infiltrating Petrolite, but now he's coming clean_,' she invented, smiling at the prospect._ 'Or maybe he's developed an alternative energy source and he's turning the company over to someone else in order to pursue his cleaner industry, and.._.

"Who am I kidding." She buried her face into Layton's former pillow and breathed in as much air as the fabric would allow, the cotton case caving into her nostrils from the forced vacuum. The Professor's scent had gone long ago, and she was left with the bland but familiar smell of her own hair and skin. "I suppose all I can do is search his office before the event, see what I find, and show up quietly. It's my last chance."

Dressed casually enough to make the trek to her drill but professional enough to sneak into her boss' event, she'd no sooner walked out of the room when she heard sounds from the kitchen, as if someone were already awake and set for the day's course. To her surprise, the Professor and Luke were just that: prepared to eat and depart quickly.

"What…what are you two doing up so early?" Laura asked incredulously as the Professor poured himself the rest of the kettle.

"Why, we're going to help you out, Laura!" Luke said with a burst of energy, trying to wake himself up. "Flora's almost ready to leave. But we're just finishing up breakfast. Don't you know that's what gentlemen in training do for…" He broke into a yawn prematurely, never finishing his sentence.

"I said I'd help you, Laura, and we're going early to get things cleared up," Professor Layton said before steeping his tea. He had dark spots under his eyes, but was otherwise himself. Laura wondered how long he could keep up with the stress of his profession as well as his side hobby of solving mysteries.

But she didn't worry about that now. With a smile, she told him she was eternally grateful, and then they were off.

The boat ride was colder and more drab than before, but they were able to get the best possible view of a sunrise as the little vessel tore off towards the east. The North Sea seemed to bleed gold as the warm sun broke the horizon. Despite the aura of the morning, and the sense of foreboding that increased with every minute, the Professor took the time to look around.

Time seemed to stop. The boat continued, the waves still sprayed him with salt, but the surrounding scene reminded him that all that was gold didn't have to glitter. The warmth of the sun caressing his face; the half-sleeping children seated next to him; the confident yet nervous friend at the helm, whose emotional barrier was strong, her will stronger, but her heart still warm enough to trust him with her most personal of problems (the other issues too tangled and knotted to handle presently).

He looked at her and analyzed, something he hadn't done in a while. She stood there against the sun, stoically guiding the little speed boat as it cut into the choppy water. What was going through her mind? What missing pieces was she searching for? And did she have any ideas in her head, really, as to what was going on here? He hadn't told her anything that he'd studied while using the Book page in his possession. And, he decided he wouldn't tell her. He hadn't told Luke either. He had to see for himself what the page and the circumstances were all about. He would prove it to himself before revealing anything. After all, he never alluded to solving anything before he had conclusive evidence, even if that meant holding back information.

'_All in good time…_'

When he returned to the regular world, the two towers loomed in front of him, the boat slowed, and they arrived and climbed the staircase as before. This time, instead of taking an elevator, they entered the door that connected to a hallway. It was tiled like the ones they had walked in before, but the walls were lined with a canvas-textured wallpaper and adorned with several original paintings. They looked _quite_ expensive, as such stylized avant-garde pieces were priced more than they seemed to deserve.

"The offices are located in this part of the building," Laura said. "One being mine, although I never come out here anymore. A couple belong to other important people—no longer employed—and the final one is Leopold's."

"How about an office for Edward Chancey senior, Leopold's partner?" Layton asked. "That would be a pertinent place to look, wouldn't it?"

"An excellent question, and yet, don't you think I would have looked there already?" Laura said derisively, turning to look at him. "There is one. But it's locked. I've never been in. I doubt anyone else has either. I tried and tried and _tried_ to find a way in, break the lock. Nothing."

"And how are you able to access Leopold's office?" The girl held up a key ring. "Ah, I see. Yet no key for Edward's office…"

"I only have so many attempts at snooping and swiping…" She shook her head and proceeded to open a door at the farthest end of the hall.

The room was large yet dim, but the expansive windows set along the perimeter of two walls let in enough light for one to manage walking and casual viewing. Sharp shadows were plastered across the plush maroon carpet as the newly risen sun rays collided with a few casually placed sofas, end tables, and peculiarly shaped vases and sculptures. Book cases lined most of the walls and were covered with various archaeological paraphernalia, as well as a thick layer of dust. A large U-shaped desk sat heavily to the left of the room, its top free from clutter, and behind the dark piece of furniture was another door, heavy and wooden. Immediately, Laura walked to this knowingly and wrenched on the handle.

"Still locked," she barked, kicking the door with a loud _thoom_ and whispering bitter curses as if she could light the thing on fire.

"You've tried it before, Laura?" Luke said as he fought the urge to examine the various artifacts and bric-a-brac on the many shelves. Defeated, the woman nodded, proceeding to eyeball the room meticulously. As silent as a ghost, the Professor had already started examining the shelves, his hand to his chin.

"Archaeology books, history books… Leopold seems to be well learned. Unless they're just for show." He thought of his own bookshelves, housing many weathered tomes that he hadn't even cracked open yet. He'd started an addiction that was only abetted more and more by seeing unwanted books of students around the campus. Could he really judge someone from their property?

Laura ignored looking at the shelves; she'd already gone through them a few times before and had found nothing. As she watched the others engage in the knick knacks, she exhaled sharply to get their attention. "_Perhaps_ you should search elsewhere, while I continue in here. That way, we can cover more ground quickly. You're only going to be looking at the same things I've been looking at for the past year if you continue on like that."

The Professor faced her and nodded. "That is the most logical plan. But what place would be worth investigating at this point?"

"There's the main control deck, which can control this drill and others around the world. It has all of the main computers located there. The screens deliver data and feedback from the other rigs as well. I haven't been in there lately, so I'm not sure what would have changed. However, since I don't know how recently Leopold has been in there…"

"Then we'll search there, and we'll come back to meet you here." Laura explained the short route which would lead them a few levels deeper and warned them to keep their hand to themselves when it came to looking around keyboards and computer screens, and then Layton ushered the children from the room.

She was alone. For the umpteenth time, she rifled through the papers in the drawers, only finding the same boring reports, charts, and graphs as usual. They were updated and current, so she knew he'd visited the space recently.

Or, at the very least, _someone_ had.

Suddenly, as she looked through the last of the documents, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. There was nothing here that she didn't already know about. Leopold was going to go about his business by announcing whatever nonsense he intended to spew; whether or not he was a corrupt, devious criminal bent on doing something _dastardly_ was still a moot point, but one that was beyond the scope of her skill set to prove (or disprove, since she wasn't sure what she was doing anymore).

"What am I really doing here…" she moaned as she glanced around like an outwitted lab rat, shoved to a corner, ready to accept a fate of being trounced for the last time, but still scared at the prospect.

Her mind raced as she gripped her head in her hands, elbows resting on the desk as she leaned forward onto it. Vision swirled and thoughts derailed.

'_I started out doing this for archaeology, and now it's oil. He's a psycho. He changed. His eyes screamed megalomania, but he's never done much to show that side, except for the few times around me. People have died randomly—famous archaeologists, people I'd just talked to… He has the Book, there's no explanation tying any of it together. I can't find a solution, and I waste all this time…_

"…Solution…"

Her right hand instinctively flew to her neck, where she used to wear the locket the Professor gave her, the Latin word for '_solution_' ground into the gold casing. It'd been several months since she'd stopped wearing it, not wanting Layton to see her wear it religiously, like some disgustingly hopeful maiden waiting for her old lover's return.

Although she never opened it—revealing the picture of _them_—the word emblazoned on it was a reminder that there was indeed a solution to every puzzle, something she begrudgingly learned from the man that had taught her more than just archaeology.

"Damn it all…"

With a newfound zeal, she straightened and scanned the room again, pacing first, then tracing a path to the giant picture windows. The ocean undulated beyond her hands' reach, but her eyes followed: rising up, falling down with each dizzying wave. She did this for several moments until she rested her sight on a hazel vase. It sat on a pedestal that looked like a stumpy Roman column. The smooth glaze of the clay sculpture seemed to glow, successfully garnering her attention. She wasn't sure if she'd even seen the thing before.

It actually _spoke_ to her in bold fragments. Words were etched in a flowing cursive:

_No matter how angry, how much you shout,_

_You won't get within, if _**me**_ you're without._

She blinked.

"A…riddle…" As she stared, the golden script burned itself into her eyes, the words reverberating in her head. "I don't have the time for this. I need to just find something—_anything_—that will show me what's going on here! And I'm sure it's in that stupid, locked room!"

Her scowl was as fleeting as her fury; she gasped and stood in front of the vase again, analyzing it closely. As her eyes twitched over the riddle again and again, she took her fingers and skimmed over the etchings as if they were brail, her only chance at reading a blank world.

"Yes," she exclaimed as she fingered the word _**me**_, "that's it! The answer is a _key_, but not just any key…" After a brief struggle, she managed to wriggle the word out of the baked clay. On the back of the heavy piece was a thin, carved sliver of metal that jutted out of it. "It's not a word at all. The _**me**_ is actually a _key_! A key to…"

As fast as she could, Laura ran to the locked door and shoved the newfound key into the lock and turned. And…the knob turned as well, allowing her access.

"_Success!_" she shrieked, covering her mouth out of instinct. No one was around, why should she care?

'_I'm so juvenile…_'

The door opened stubbornly, stiff at the hinges, and she was presented with an annex similar to the main office. The décor was the same; a small desk was in the middle of the room, and crystal-clear windows gave perfect views of the ocean. And…more shelves showed off more scrap.

Her nerves trilled back and forth between steeled and empowered to fearful and uncertain. But as she looked around, what enticed her most was that the desk didn't have an empty slate. While the desk in the previous room was clean and organized, this one had unkempt piles of papers. It was obviously used more often, and had a lot of information that she hadn't yet seen.

She smiled, sat in the cozy chair, and grabbed the first manila folder that she laid hands on. It was labeled _Fracking_.

"Boring," and she grabbed another, tossing the former in a newly established pile on the floor. She did this several times, only opening two and lazily thumbing through it, merely to make herself believe that she was getting something out of doing it. The folder was dumped with the rest and then she picked up one without any title or indication to its contents. She frowned, and felt like she was only prolonging her fruitless torture.

Laura opened the report. The first page was a diagram of the drill. It listed capabilities, purposes, the materials it was made of. Names of metals and alloys and pieces and parts filled the sheet, as well as pressure limitations and weaknesses (a small list). It was all information Laura knew and had compiled herself. Which was why she was surprised at the fifth page in the report.

'_This is…a report from the geological engineer…_' She held her breath as she skimmed the pertinent keywords, the report incessantly and repeatedly warning of the dangers of drilling off the Italian coast. The engineer had not given any clearance to go ahead with the project. The drilling was supposed to have been cancelled.

"But…I oversaw that installment," she mumbled. "I got the go ahead, Leopold told me to do it, it was supposed to be okay. That's…what the geological engineers are for…"

Several similar reports followed. Off the coast of India: denied. Off the coast of South America: rejected. Off the American coast: no permission given.

"They were all _denied_?"

The last refusal held her eyes without any effort. It was a short blurb about '_planar fractures_' and '_strong discontinuity_' in the deep sea rock, all jargon to anyone else, but to _her_: the words were a straight forward denial for Leopold's plans. The word _Stabilnon_ was boldly printed on the next page, and she stared at it, holding her breath as she let her eyes drop down a concise summary.

She froze. The words blurred, and she had to reread them multiple times, ten times, twenty times quickly. Her stomach hollowed and felt like it would shoot up her throat with her heart as her arms went numb.

"Oh God, what is this," she whimpered as the pages shook in her arms. She read as her fingers trembled, her mind attempted to fade to black, realization drilled into her brain. The paper laid it all out quite clearly. Too clearly. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out.

Stabilnon was undeniably positioned in a fault zone. The earth's plates in the zone were purported to have a strain threshold that easily dwarfed the others around the world, the giant slabs of earth threatening to let an earthquake lose any time it was pushed beyond its limits. Although still theory, it was strongly supported by further data and charts in the file that showed images of the tectonic plates under heavy stress beneath the little town. It was a little known fact, and one that the townspeople had not shared during her time there. However, the villagers were well accustomed to the constant vibrations, as faint as they were.

"That's…that's why…"

It was all in the list on the paper: why the citizens were so tired after several hours of dealing with the barely discernible shakes of the earth, the vibrations; why the buildings' foundations were so fortified when compared to average house architecture; why frozen precipitate couldn't sit still, even on non-sloped surfaces.

'_Didn't anyone question this?! Are those people really so simple?_'

In the matter of a minute, it all clicked: the city was a ticking time bomb with a short fuse.

"And I…planted a drill right over it…"

Some papers floating gently, others scattering this way and that, she let the folder fall. The contents landed where they willed. Colored graphs and black and white text painted the floor, and Laura took in air sharply as her hands flew to her mouth, covering half-sobs. Her throat was dry. Her eyes were glazed saucers. She stared at nothing, but she saw her stupidity plainly. Her lack of judgment. The blind trust. The inability to notice changes sooner.

"I set them up. I set them _all_ up. I built them, I oversaw their construction, and I…always got the okay. Leopold said it was okay!" she cried, shooting up from the no-longer comfy seat. Her hands greedily grabbed at more folders, trying to find something that would refute what she'd just confirmed for herself. More papers flew and spilled over the desk's surface; she chucked several across the room and shouted.

'_No! No! That can't be it, this can't be the truth!_' her mind screamed erratically. '_I didn't build them on fault lines! There's no problem. It's oil; it's all oil! Petrol! That's all! My drills were made for petrol, not…not setting off earthquakes! Not…not that…_'

"No, no, no no no no…" she moaned. "I couldn't have, I didn't, I didn't, _I didn't_."

The more she searched, the more knowledge she gained, and the more she became conscious of how dire the situation was. Leopold had been perfect in his execution. Earthquakes in the ocean were not simple rumbles and shakes. The tiniest blast, the most minute shift of rock would cause waves. Tsunamis. _Floods_. With drills around the world, set to go down as far as they were commanded, even a minor shift of the plates would cause problems at the shore line.

"He's…he's going to drown it…the world...drown everyone…they're all going to…"

'_Die._

'_They're all going to drown and die._

'_And _you_ killed them all, Laura_. _Happy Earth Day_.

"I killed them all."

* * *

"There's only dust and old food crumbs," Flora reiterated to Luke, both of them sighing with discontent as they searched under desks and computer units for the fifth time.

"Honestly…?"

The control room was a mess of olive green monitors with sickly yellow text and charts; graphs with lines that rose and nose dived; measurements and data feeds based on an unknown set of parameters that would flash onto the screen, only to shortly be replaced with another flicker of information. Screens like these lined the room's perimeter, an adjustable swivel chair in front of each station. The place was set up as if it should have housed an appointed group of employees keeping tabs on each drill, making sure it was running appropriately. However, the room was desolate, apart from the three explorers and a handful of spider webs and the rare insect husk.

Professor Layton sat down at one of the computer decks and again tried making heads or tails of the information on the monitor before it cycled through the same jargon.

"I don't think there's anything here," Luke grunted, thoroughly bored and disheartened. He wanted desperately to find something worthwhile and earth-shattering. "This is turning out to be a waste of time."

Flora nodded in agreement. "It's not very likely that we'll find anything here, Professor. Don't you think that's the case?"

"Have you two opened your minds to all possibilities?" He smiled at them as they shuffled uncomfortably.

"Well, how should we know if we have or not?" Luke asked testily. "It's not like there's a check-list or anything."

Layton chuckled and stood. "Since this room has a closed set of information, meaning the screens aren't showing anything novel since we've come in ten minutes ago, I think it's safe to assume that this room isn't going to expose anything noteworthy.

"Which means we need to change our course and do a bit of light exploring of our own. Maybe we'll think of something we forgot in this room. For now, let's head out."

When they left the lifeless control room the children perked up instantly, and the team set off down the hall. The powdery white tiled floor soon became industrial matte-gray after they went down a few levels. Deeper and deeper they descended, searching for something, _anything_, but doing nothing more than trying every door knob that they came across. Most rooms were locked; the ones that _were _open were only other control rooms or storage areas. A few sealed up areas were the living quarters for the rig workers, the only clue being the signage next to the slate gateways ('_Bathroom_', '_Kitchen_', '_Barracks_'); but those workers were long gone, as was access to the rooms.

"I wonder how comfortable, or rather, how enjoyable it was to actually work here," Flora wondered aloud, her brow furrowed. "Think about it. Weeks, months at a time, out here with only your coworkers, and you couldn't see your family. I'm sure they got lonely and bored."

"It would be tough," Luke sympathized, thinking of his own family, living out their daily lives: without him around. It made him teary when he thought about it too hard. "But sometimes that's what we have to do. For whatever reason, life isn't always comfortable. Or easy! But you still have to push through it and do your best. No matter what."

"But of course, Luke." The girl smiled and tried another handle before they turned the corner.

Professor Layton smiled as the boy gave his logic without second thought. The man was getting more and more wisdom from the mouths of babes than he ever got from textbooks or colleagues.

'_They pick up so much sense from the circumstances around them, as if it were some innate skill…if only us boring, stick-in-the-mud adults would listen…_'

Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed annoyingly like a swarm of lazy gnats, and the crew started down yet another dull hallway, Luke in the lead. Running ahead, the children raced to see who could get to the most doors before they had to go down another level, leaving Layton at the beginning of the extending hall.

"Why don't you join us, Professor?! Or are you afraid of losing?!" Luke yelled behind him, his chattering trailing off with him ("He's too old," Flora quipped, covering her mouth after Luke belted out a laugh and told her she was too loud). The Professor merely shook his head and grinned, admiring a '_Caution!'_ plaque that warned about the dangers of smoking in such a facility.

He was just beginning to wonder who in their right mind would consider doing such a thing at an _oil_ rig when he heard Luke let out a markedly prepubescent scream and jump back from the wall. Flora leaned in to see what the fuss was about but the boy shoved her back.

"Arrgh! A hand! That's a hand! Oh gosh, Professor!"

His breathing heavy, Layton caught up with the kids and reset his hat in place, lungs strained and heart jumping from his chest. "What's the matter, Luke?"

The boy pointed to the open door. Inside was the bottom of what looked like a narrow chute, dark and hazy, a pile of rubbish gathered to a height of about three feet. Some yellowed paper, dried up food waste, and old plastic wrappers shifted and had fallen all over the floor in front of them.

"The door said _Trash Collection_, and I didn't know exactly what that meant so I…opened it. It actually wasn't locked! I didn't think it was a chute like this." He swallowed, pointing a shaky finger towards the trash once more. "There's a hand sticking out, just beneath that dusty-looking stuff in the middle…" Flora gasped and stepped back.

"Get back, Luke," said the Professor, lightly pushing him back along with the girl. He peered inside, pushing the giant slab of metal door open completely so every ounce of light could invade the darkness. The door clanged as it slammed flat against the wall.

The boy wasn't deceived. Indeed, a withered hand with puckered, dried out skin poked out from the rubble and garbage. Some of the knuckles were split and gray bone stuck through the decayed leather. The shock had wore off and the Professor now stood with a heavy heart and chilled spirit.

"What in the world…? Or perhaps I should say '_who_' in the world…" He spun around and looked about the place. "Find something long and thin, stick-like, anything."

The words fell on the children's deaf ears, but they soon snapped to attention and scattered. Layton didn't bother with waiting for their search, and steeled himself as he reached in the chute and pulled out what appeared to be a piece of broken picture frame. Luke and Flora returned empty handed to find him prodding the rubbish fragments surrounding the hand, clearing the trash from around the wrist, and then finally an arm appeared. When the elbow joint came into view, the Professor grunted.

"What is it, Professor?" Luke whispered.

"It's all twisted," he replied, his voice as grisly as the scene. Shoving the piece of frame into the pile, he tried using it as a lever. "And this piece of…whatever it is won't move—one—bit—"

He put all his weight down on the wood and the pile exploded, sending pieces of matted dust and plastic upwards and outwards. They closed their eyes and coughed, waving away the cloud until the air cleared. Flora was the first to inhale and—

"_AHHHHHHH!_" she screamed, the harsh wail ricocheting off the walls and returning back to their quivering eardrums; the Professor felt himself go temporarily deaf. Although painful, the outburst was warranted and repeated (albeit in a lower decibel) by Luke, who leaped backward, dizzy from the scene.

"That's a face…"

The body was mostly visible now. Its back lay against the pile, slunk over it like a sloppy arch, each appendage sticking out at unnatural angles. The arms were twisted at the elbows and one leg was cracked awkwardly at the knee. A gaunt, ash-plastered head stared with vacant hollows; whether the eyeballs were long decayed or shrunken and hidden beneath the brow bone was unclear. Either could have been the case, as the skin didn't appear to have decayed much at all. Instead, it looked dried and taut like sun-tanned hide, a haunting visage, and a startling one to come upon in any circumstance. The jaw was stretched open wide, forever screaming silently. Several teeth were missing.

Layton pulled Flora close and turned her around, forcing her away from the chute. "Don't look." He grabbed towards Luke, who sidestepped the gesture.

"No, Professor," he said staunchly, resolute. "We can't turn away from things like this! I have to…face it like a gentleman!"

"But…"

"Professor, we need to get to the bottom of this. I can't…turn away now…" His face set, he did his best to stare down the dead thing, swallowing all screams with his fears. He was still frightened, but was trying hard to feign bravery.

Nodding, the Professor knew he was right. He released Flora and let her do as she wished: to look or not was her choice. "Very good, Luke. Then, let me do likewise, and figure things out."

He looked again at the crooked form. The body was that of a man. Mousey hair was still connected to the scalp, but it was matted with blood and bits of trash. It was obvious now, with proper observation, that the person had suffered some sort of blunt trauma to the head and torso, as large gashes and deep indentions were scattered around the body. It wasn't inherently obvious if this caused the death immediately or not, but they were there regardless. Miraculously, the neck didn't appear to have snapped, but the skull was sunken in near the back of the head; it was a muddied brown color, like dark rust.

"Why would someone be in the trash chute?" Flora said through a weak sob. "He didn't…_fall in_, did he?" Surely, she knew the answer, but was too afraid to say it aloud.

"No, he was murdered," came the low voice of the Professor, confirming both of the others' thoughts. "As is apparent by the many injuries he's sustained. It doesn't seem that he got those from falling alone."

"But…why isn't he…rotted?" Luke stammered quietly.

"The lack of air must have attributed to the preservation of the body, as he hasn't decomposed much at all, has he? There isn't even a stench. Yes," Layton continued, nodding, "this was purposeful and quite possibly meditated. After all, no one's reported his death, and he's been hidden in this chute, possibly for years."

Luke paused, staring ahead, then slowly looked up at the man in the top hat. He looked at him queerly, as if finally realizing how odd it was to see such finery in a dank place, all of them admiring a murder scene. "'_Reported his death_'? But, Professor, how would you know such a thing? Who knows who this man even is, let alone whether his death has been reported?"

"Why, Luke, I _do_ know who it is, and nobody has had even an inkling regarding his whereabouts. After all, no one has seen Edward Chancey the Second in quite some time."

* * *

It took too long, in the Professor's opinion, to get back to the floor they'd started on; his mind was moving faster than his legs. He ignored the questions the children kept positing, the arguments they continued to yell after him, a swirl of his own logic clouding his thoughts like a brooding fog.

"_Professor_!" Luke shouted for a third time. "What are we going to do?! We need to tell the police! Someone needs to be informed! Don't you think so?" No luck. The boy breathed heavily alongside Flora as their tired legs throbbed and made them wobble like jelly. All doors and halls blurred to gray with occasional maroon and gold flecks as they continued in their rush. Then they slowed, finally arriving at the start of their journey.

The Professor stopped in front of a door, the gaudy plaque giving it away as their goal with a gold "Leopold Chancey". He wrenched it open and ran into the room. There was no sound, no soul, no life.

"Laura!" he wheezed loudly. His breath hadn't yet caught up with him but Luke and Flora followed right behind, equally puzzled looks on their faces.

"Did she go to search somewhere else?" Flora asked, looking back out in the hallway. "I didn't see anyone..."

"No, she wouldn't do that," Layton said with a shake of the head. "She knows better than to wander when we're at the mercy of her directions. She's here..."

After racing across the room, his mind was temporarily at ease as his hand turned on the doorknob; he expected no less: the formerly locked door behind the desk now opened without protest, save for the rigid hinges.

'_She must have found the key_,' he thought with burning pride. '_Good girl._'

What he didn't expect was the silent back turned to him. Her legs stood stock-still, but she was half draped over the desk, arms leaning on the surface, head in her hands. She appeared to be looking at something, but there was nothing in front of her, only a file resting next to her. There were papers littered all around the floor. Even after the children's audible sighs of relief, Laura only gripped the file and stood up straight, making no gesture to indicate she'd even heard them.

"Laura, what are you doing?" Dead silence. Layton walked briskly to her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

One expects a person to give some sort of response when startled, surprised, or brought to attention; the young woman merely shivered, sniffed, and broke down. She let out a strangled wail, guttural and pained, and then choked on sobs. The papers in the file she was holding fluttered to the ground with the rest of them, the file itself sounding with a dull _plap. _Her hands dug into her scalp and she grabbed fistfuls of hair, tugging to cause pain. It was obvious she was trying to make something go away, and was failing miserably.

The Professor forced her about-face. "Laura, what the hell is going on?" Luke and Flora gasped at their mentor's sudden change of demeanor, but forgot about it quickly. The Professor lost resolve as well, meaning to look at Laura sternly, but wavered at the sight of her. Silent crying had done a number to her expression. Her once daring eyes that would crackle with burning obsidian were now bloodshot and manic. He was sure he'd seen trapped animals with a similar look: lost, deranged, hopeless. Her cheeks were stiff with a despairing sort of grimace, like she wanted desperately to laugh, but her memories forgot what a laugh even was. Several blood vessels had broken around her eyes and on the fullest part of her cheeks, giving her ugly freckles.

"H-H...Hershel...I...I didn't...I didn't know...no-none of it..." she stammered with messy words, slurring everything together into an inaudible soup. She attempted a hideous smile, fake and unconvincing. "It's not...it _is_ my...no, I won't..."

"Laura, get a hold of yourself! What _happened_?! What's _wrong_?" His voice degenerated from frustrated to desperate. Everything he was going to tell her vanished; he completely forgot about the dead Edward Chancey in the trash chute, the speculations, the facts... It was all gone. Now if only she'd put some justice to her odd behavior...

Laura wailed into her small hands, growling curses, screaming hatred at an unknown person, place, _thing._ Luke ran forward but stalled when Flora pulled him back with a wise hand. The older girl wasn't consolable, even by means of innocent words.

"Wait, Luke," Flora whispered knowingly.

"Laura..." the boy muttered, heart breaking from an unfamiliar emotion. "Why...why are you..."

"_I HATE EVERYTHING!_" she screamed, kicking the desk with a frightening force. She recoiled after something snapped: she didn't care if it was her foot or the wood, but her brain told her to move on to the desk's surface. She acted like she was looking for something, but the desk was void. Layton placed her in a vise-like grip, wrapping his arms stiffly about her; it was more difficult than expected, given their differences in stature.

Her tiny frame easily maneuvered through his arms and...then she realized everything was already scattered, thrown around on the floor like confetti. There. On the ground. She scrambled again, obsessed to find something invisible.

"She's lost it," the Professor confided to himself, half-tempted to slap her. He was completely lost for words and intelligent action. "Laura, I don't know what else to do, but-"

"_I hate myself! I hate this stupid-damned-room-stupid-stupid-business-job-engi neering-ALL OF IT." _She stopped. Instant. It was like a light switch, flipped to "Sane". The crystalline wild glimmer left her eyes; she appeared tired and sad, and only that. "Hershel, I've done...something... You caught me at a bad time. I keep...shifting in and out of control." He was still lost, obvious by his expression. Surely, he wasn't good at handling her complex nature as it was, but now, he looked at her as if she were an extraterrestrial.

Bending down, she gingerly rummaged through the field of paper and retrieved a beat up manila folder. She handed it to him and whimpered. "It's all in there. Leopold lied."

"About what?!"

"The drills," she shrugged. "What else? All of the geological engineers, the ones who were supposed to judge whether an area was stable enough to drill as deeply as my drills go...those people were disregarded completely. Their advice was completely bypassed. Each place around the world where there is a drill...each of those places shouldn't _have _one."

"What?!" Luke yelled, fists balled at his sides. "But...how?! Why?"

"The reason being," she continued, glancing slightly at the boy, "they're all on fault lines."

She knew the Professor would know enough from this statement that she could stop talking for a moment and gain a hold of her wits once more. Her head became tight, her sight vexed by an odd pulsating sensation; her vision ballooned as if she were looking through a fish-eye lens at flashing intervals, her subconscious mind trying to throw her back into mental darkness.

Luke was miffed, but the Professor was wise to Laura's words. "That's...genocide..." the man muttered, half to himself, half to her. He looked absurd: a gentleman in a top hat, shaking his head left and right, a look of questioning, disbelief.

"What's that mean, Professor?" Luke asked quietly, expecting the worst; it wasn't green when it came to bad news, but that didn't mean he had developed an expectant taste for it. He looked to Flora to see if she understood what was going on. She shook her head. Now _that_ he could expect: she was as much in the dark as he was.

"The force of those drills on fault lines. Who knows what that would do, what it would cause!" Layton stammered, a bit harsher than usual.

"Exactly. And as for Stabilnon," Laura whispered, flipping through the file he was holding until coming to all of the information on the mysterious city. She traced the document with her finger as she spoke quicker than he could read. "There's a reason for all its oddities. There is a fault in the ocean, a few miles out in the Atlantic. It is incredible. The plates are pressurized so much, the tremors from this thing... There are literally _constant vibrations_ coming out from it, all day, every day, and they affect Stabilnon especially. Somehow, the land attracts the mini-quakes like a magnet. They are tiny and imperceptible, and yet...the human body subconsciously senses them. They lull people into a stupor, a calming and secure sleep. Hence the naps. Don't you recall? And the foundations of the buildings? Susceptible to cracks and wear due to acute quakes here and there, but really it's because of the damage over time; those tremors cause the materials to degrade faster than usual. A sort of erosion, if you will."

"And the snow..." Layton's face lit up, aware of her next statement as she tapped the words on the paper with an impatient knuckle.

"Slid off of everything because of the same thing: mini vibrations makes it scoot, scoot, scoot until it goes _splat_ on the ground. It's strange but true. And the place is a ticking time bomb. _And_ I just placed a match on the fuse." Angrily she took the file from a surprised Professor and chucked it sideways through the room like a frisbee, not bothering to watch it slice the air before it exploded against one of the many picture windows. "I hate myself."

Layton shook his head. "Laura, hating yourself is going to do no good now. We need to-"

"Do something about it?" she sneered threateningly. If it were any other situation, he'd have taken it offensively, as a bitter challenge. But now, she was menacing, and the man wisely used the grace his disposition entitled him to. "And what do you propose we do? You know what _earthquakes_ do, and you should know what _ocean earthquakes_ do. We're talking flooding, tsunamis, mass drownings..." She paused and stared like one in a casket. "Death."

The word was barely heard when she let out another excruciating cry, covering her eyes with her hands, turning away from everyone, a feeble attempt at becoming invisible. "Don't look at me, please, don't. Please forgive me! It's all my fault! I didn't act quickly enough, I wasn't smart enough! I should have...I should have been," she moaned as she shuddered.

The scope of the circumstances couldn't fit in Luke or Flora's heads, but they knew what torment looked like. Both ran forward with no clear goal in mind, with no words to say, and stood quietly, hoping their proximity was enough to make Laura's ruin seem that much less expansive.

Professor Layton was more direct. It wasn't any easier for him to comfort or face such obstacles, but the situation called for less tears, more action, and even more understanding. He placed a hand on Laura's head, then slid down to her shoulder, his fingers catching in a few knots of hair. She winced, and looked up from tear-stained hands.

"If you think you've lost, you're mistaken. Laura, you might have had oversights. You might be the catalyst in all of this. But it's hardly your fault. Things have...gotten out of hand, maybe even out of _your_ hands, but that doesn't mean you've failed. After all, the day is young." He glanced out the window with a meek smile. Laura cursed the dull glow on his stupid grin, but noted it. "We aren't defeated. Down, but not defeated.

"My point is, I promised to help you. You haven't lost until you've given up. We'll get our answers, but for now we need to confront Leopold and get to the bottom of what his presentation is about. If we leave now, we should make it in time."

The warmth of his hand stung. Guilt sprouted from somewhere. She wanted to shrug it off, but Laura stared ahead, sniffing and mulling his words over in silence. "Even after everything..."

"Hmm?"

"No, you're right. I don't know...what came over me. I'm terribly overwhelmed, I thought I could handle it, but... Wow. I think...no, nevermind." She waved it off. "I'm done thinking. I guess I'm not as emotionally stable as I thought."

The boy spoke suddenly, "Laura, I think that's okay. It's natural, isn't it? You've...been through a lot. But!" He looked at Flora and the Professor for approval. "We'll help 'til the end!"

She saw Liam there, in the boy's smile. Her brother. Always approving, always positive. Up until he faded. Faded from life. Faded from daily thoughts. Faded into that ethereal place where worn out memories go, wherever that was. But here he was, manifest in Luke's boyish grin. He wouldn't put her down or blame her. He'd accept her no matter what happened.

Around her now, three friends, trying hard to be the same person. Despite all her failures, they were there in the same room along with her, taking on the same problem, lightening the load.

"O…okay…"

The Professor concurred, "Until the end, Laura. Let's go."

'_Until the end_.' And Laura smiled back.

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**END. Don't forget to review!**


	38. CHAPTER 38: PIN THE TAIL

**Well, here's the latest and greatest. Hmm, maybe not greatest, but still…..**

**It's actually one of the shortest chapters I have written. And that's sad, considering it's still almost 3.5 thousand words.**

**Next chapter gets awesome. Sit tight.**

**Falling asleep,  
****Kelsey**

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**CHAPTER 38: PIN THE TAIL**

The Laytonmobile roared through back streets, riskily hustled through city thoroughfares, and rode the bumper of any car that dared to coast in front of it.

Laura covered her mouth. "Don't you think you could...mmph...drive a bit smoother than this?"

"Not if you don't want to miss that conference. Speech. Whatever it is," he growled, muttering voodoo-like chants under his breath. "Does this woman even know how to _accelerate_?!"

Flora giggled despite the situation, and Luke dared to do the same. Their Professor never got angry. Never. And he'd already cussed once today. They were waiting for another slip, albeit with a tinge of worry.

'_I don't like the Professor pushed like that,' _Luke thought to himself. '_I suppose he's human, but...I don't always consider him to be_...'

"Well, it's all still fuzzy, but we know something's amiss," Layton said above the traffic din. "How Leopold still managed to get away with it, I don't know."

"Neither do I," Laura said while shaking her head. She rolled down her window to let the fresh air hit her face, which she welcomed enthusiastically. "All advice was buffeted, tossed aside. All of it. I don't even know how he got government clearance for such projects! I don't even have anyone around anymore to question. All of my fellow engineers...they aren't working at Petrolite anymore."

"They were all fired or killed," the Professor said matter of factly. He merely continued driving while Laura gawked at his audacity.

"What? How do you—"

"If they were mindless underlings, they were fired. Knowledgeable, and they were murdered. Now we're approaching our destination, so let's get a plan in mind..."

Her screwed up expression was mutely ignored, and she flailed her hands around as if swatting gnats. What on earth was he going on about so smugly? He wouldn't be apathetic with a subject as prickly as death, but it seemed that way.

'_Then again…_'

Had all her comrades—her fellow coworkers, engineers, and scientists—really died mysteriously, just as those archaeologists in the newspaper? It only now occurred to her, the coincidental timing.

"But…!" she tried, before being interrupted once more.

"Hey. Laura," the Professor hurried, "depending on what we find out today—if this is all cleared up, what then?"

The question was frank, and it caught her off guard. "W-What?"

"Will our line of communication end? Do you mean to go back to how things were?" He glanced at her, giving her a sidelong look that indicated seriousness of another nature, reflecting a gravity that was very different than that of the current situation.

"I…I never thought that far ahead…"

A line of cars indicated they were not going anywhere fast, and they realized they'd be very late, perhaps _too _late. One vehicle laid on its horn, graduating to obscene hand gestures waved out the window. Those drivers nearby responded with colorful words and only the most enchanting of names and labels. Laura grimaced and started rolling up her window, afraid the children in back would hear.

"You might want to go by foot, Laura," Layton suggested strongly, tapping the wheel.

"I won't get much farther, at my speed." She smashed her face to the window, trying to gauge the distance of cars. She couldn't see beyond the fog that she breathed onto the glass. "Goodness…"

"It's faster than we'll be here in the car, so…"

She sat still for a moment. "…I guess we'll just wing it then, huh? Just sit in with the general audience. I'll look for you."

Her door flew open and she hurried towards the sidewalk, out of traffic. As she walked in tandem with the cars, she looked sideways at the Professor's before walking ahead of them. The line moved slowly, and soon the Professor, Luke, and Flora were about twenty cars behind her. The Laytonmobile was finally out of sight, but the question the Professor asked wasn't out of mind.

Pressing forward, she bypassed the parking lots and garages that were hosting the attendees and made a straight shot towards the convention center. Her knees threatened to buckle each time she'd hurry a little faster than what her legs found tolerable, and she sucked in the air furiously whenever she'd push past the borderline.

"Shit…"

A brick arch passed overhead, a wrought-iron sign with a name nailed onto the entrance gate. She didn't bother looking at it; she knew it was a university, but wasn't interested. The campus that she was now trekking across wasn't as homey and rich in visible history as Gressenheller, but she had to admit that it was more expansive. It boasted its own immense convention center—named after some rich benefactor who died in some year on some date…some time ago—and was conveniently located within walking distance of downtown London. Near the heart of the city, it was a hub of urban culture that spoke well with the students.

But now the convention center was the center of attention. The stadium-like arena in the center bustled as the presentation was fast approaching. After several minutes, Laura was allowed backstage access after managing to prove her position at Petrolite (albeit with difficulty: she was accused several times of having a fake ID before a junior guard finally noticed her name and ID number on the VIP list). Departing from the line of commoners, she made her way down a dim tunnel as directed, the deafening noise from the crowd dying away.

Smiling hopefully, Laura saw glowing light at the end and walked through. She was now in what resembled an amphitheater: an open-air stage in the middle, bench seats circling around it like elevated ripples in a pond. The presentation would take place completely outdoors in light of Earth Day, a nice change from fluorescent buzzing lights and bland carpet and wallpaper lecture halls.

The stands were currently flooded with a variety of spectators: old, wispy bureaucrats; young, hip environmentalists; general citizens interested in the announcement. Reporters and photographers lined the stage as far as they were allowed to go, a few trying to set their equipment up just beyond the yellow tape and various gates that security attempted to fortify. Laura snorted. Did such an event deserve all this publicity?

A row of seats for the supposed VIP guests were just below the stage. They were turned to face the podium, and two men already were seated. One had a grumpy disposition, his lower lip pouted, cheeks pinched; the other continuously sighed, nursing a bored drawl with a thin mouth and heavy jaw.

Laura looked around to see if she could spot Leopold, but he was nowhere to be found. Releasing a low growl, she caught sight of a cardboard plaque on the chair next to the bored man. It had her name on it, so she rolled her eyes, picked it up, and sat.

'_Figures I have to sit next to this character…_'

Just as she was about to get comfortable, her spine stiffened as a set of hands pressed down on her shoulders. The fingers slowly clenched around the roundest part as she sank in her seat.

"So you showed."

She didn't need to look up to know when conceit sounded its whiny voice. Something coursed through her that was both frightening and feral. The feeling she now felt was akin to hunger: a passionate hunger for justice, revenge.

"Wasn't I expected?" she sneered.

"Of course," Leopold whispered softly, barely audible. He patted one of her shoulders, smiling at something invisible, beyond the stage, beyond the podium. "You don't fail, that's for certain."

Biting her tongue, the girl remained silent.

"I'm entirely convinced this will be an announcement that will change the future. Even _you_ will be surprised." His hands lifted. "Sit tight and get ready to see the fruits of your labor, Laura."

"Don't I deserve to know what I've _helped_ with, Leopold?" She dared to turn and stab him with a scrutinizing eye. It no longer mattered what he was: boss, superior, employer. He failed to serve as any of them, and trust was dead between them, if there was any to begin with. "After all, my achievements with this company are mostly by my own hand, without any help. My designs—"

"You are such a funny little girl!" he laughed, chuckling as he started walking away. "You'll get recognition, don't worry. I don't forget to give credit where it's due…"

A pit formed in Laura's stomach, and it only grew into a crater as the afternoon carried on. She couldn't locate the Professor or the children in the sea of faces, the line of seats she was in filled up with stuffy misers, and her tolerance of all things social waned with the time clock. Finally, a balloon of a man with a fox-tail moustache that grew into his sideburns stepped to the main podium. Amidst a fanfare of applause he pulled on his suspenders, his globular body puffing up with pride as his moustache bristled like an excited porcupine.

He pulled the microphone to his furry mouth. "Ladies and gentlemen! I am pleased to extend to you a hearty welcome to the 21st annual 'Eco-Efficiency in Industry Conference', where entrepreneurs both experienced and starting out can learn more about making their enterprise compatible with sustainability and eco-friendly practices!" More applause. "Here you will not only get the chance to impart on a journey that will make your own business more sustainable and safe for the environment, but you will network with like-minded individuals who feel just as passionate about keeping their business afloat while maintaining safe enviro-conscious procedures.

"Now, this year's theme is 'Green Opportunity'..."

Laura was sure the points and issues and topics that would be addressed were substantially important to modern business practices and the world at large, but the weight of outside matters crushed her interest. After the bloat of a man finished, a lanky older gentleman with a hooked nose took the stage and gave some keynote speech of sorts.

'_Yes yes, hurry now...when does Leopold start saying something_?' The girl fidgeted and squirmed, barely able to stand the wait any longer.

A woman replaced the bird-like man—the woman no less bird-like than he was; perhaps she was even _more_ birdy with her chirpy voice that could fool a finch—and 45 minutes later, Leopold Chancey was finally introduced. Laura shot up and stayed at attention, eyeing him carefully as he took the stage. Rising to the podium like a slippery snake on white trousered legs, he gave a small smile amidst half-hearted clapping and mild chatter; it seemed he still wasn't acquitted of the troubles his ruthless business practices had caused.

He cleared his throat.

"Let me be the 100th person to welcome you to this fine expo we have here today," he began, throwing in flowery language that was expected of introductory pleasantries. His hair was more reflective than usual.

'_More of a slime-ball than usual,_' Laura thought with disgust. She imagined she could taste whatever holding spray he'd fused into that slicked up head of his. Or maybe it was his acidic tone of voice…

…and _that_, she now noted, was strange. While he usually crooned and belted out some inane command with that eccentric chortle of his, Leopold's voice now was surprisingly calm. Collected. _Bland_. He spoke as if the entire crowd was giving him an allergic reaction that he was too proud (or embarrassed) to admit, and he was trying this hardest to just put up with the whole thing until the deed was done. He struggled through the pleasantries, and then sighed, contentment sweeping across his face.

"But before we begin the seminars," he began again after a stint of applause, "I have a little surprise announcement."

A buzz ran through the audience. The hum of whispers and murmurs cascaded through like an auditory wave, a low shock of electricity, and it sent another chill up and down Laura's spine. She sat up and massaged her knees as was her nervous habit. This was it.

"Spill it,_ creep_," Laura growled quietly, the men around her stirring in their seats.

"On this beautiful Earth Day, the 22nd of April, we at Petrolite are going to unveil a new line of drills," the man continued. "As this is a day of environmental awareness, what better day to come clean and admit: oil is a dirty thing! Some might suggest, 'Might we clean up our act?' And I say to you, '_Absolutely_'."

He giggled nervously, and searched the row of VIP attendants. Laura sneered back as he smiled mockingly at her. She could barely function now, her anger was so deep. She didn't' even notice the sparse yet strong support from those in the crowd who cheered for what seemed to be a change to more environmentally conscious practices in the petrol industry. Oh, how little they seemed to know…

"And," he continued again after a pause, "there is really no better way to clean up, than to wash away our iniquities…"

Suddenly, the earth quivered, almost undetectably, but just enough to send a jolt through the bodies of everyone present.

"And," Leopold hissed into the microphone, "cleanse us from our sins..."

The crowd was looking around in confusion. For all they'd waited for, the speech was no longer making sense and all of the attendees were becoming anxious with both worry and irritation. A few began to stand and make their way down the aisles, looking for ushers or someone with knowledge of what was going on.

"Oh, don't fuss," came the typical Leopold, his voice aloof yet pleased, "I have a genius engineer on my side. Laura Haris, how about you introduce yourself and your little inventions, hmm? At least an explanation!"

Another tremor, and this time, more powerful and violent. Several people on their feet tumbled and crashed into those still seated. A few women screamed in the fray, and some of the more belligerent men grumbled and shouted their distaste.

"What is the meaning of this?!" one of the men near Laura boomed aloud. "Are you bloomin' mad, Chancey?" Stop speaking in tongues and—!"

He was silenced not by the winner's grin on Leopold's face, but by Laura jumping to her feet. Her eyes blazed as she drilled them into her employer's, several feet above her. He glared down at her from his perch on the stage. She held to her resolve as he looked at her knowingly.

'_He activated them_. _He actually activated them. _'

"Now, now, let's calm down," Leopold said soothingly, pushing his hands downward as if motioning to a baby to sit. "My coworker and confidant Laura will be more than happy to entertain all questions pertaining to her machines. Isn't that right, Laura?"

"_No_." No one heard her, but she knew he saw her mouth the word bitterly.

The businessman looked to the aisles flanking the stage; several security guards and reporters began trudging their way towards him. If he was going to fly…

"Well," he shouted into the microphone once more, "time is short, and I must take my leave. But I _do_ hope you enjoy the rest of your April day. After all…

"What are May flowers without April showers?"

In a blur of white suit, he bolted to the exit just out of the hands of security and on-site police officers. In the matter of seconds, a flutter of rumors made its way through the crowd, and the gathering exploded into chaos.

Laura, previously tense and clenching her fists, looked around her like a deer in the headlights. Men, women, students, reporters: all started bombarding her from every direction, each one racing to an exit. She heard the word '_terrorist_' ring through the air a few times before feeling her entire body smashed against the side of the wooden stage. Someone trampled a fallen woman, and she clung to Laura's lab coat desperately, begging to be rescued from the twisted sea of shoes and legs. Laura shrugged out of the coat and left the poor lady behind as the mass of bodies swept past her, sliding along the wall. She reached out and finally was able to grab the railing to the stairs.

Racing to the stage, she looked out in the crowd frantically and tried to spot the iconic top hat. It wasn't long before the Professor and the children were in her sights. All pride lost, she waved her arms wildly and screamed above the cacophony. Finally, Luke spotted her and pointed. Soon they were making their way to the stage.

The Professor practically tripped up the short staircase. "It seems we've hit a real snag. Reports seem to have picked up some seismic activity off the coast and—"

"Are you surprised?" Laura barked, waving her arms. "He just detonated a time bomb! Several! A lot of those damn drills just cracked into fault lines, and you're telling _me_ about seismic activity! We know all this already!"

"Well, it's what _follows_ that's the real problem!"

"Yes, yes, I'm aware," she spat, looking around. Most of the people in the audience had made it out of the amphitheater and a few guards eyed the group on the stage. They stood at the exits, debating whether or not to prompt them to leave. "Let's just get out of here."

The campus was in shambles as people scattered across the grounds trying to find loved ones, trying to calm the frantic, trying to make a wise exit before whatever the threat was came to pass. The quickest were already hauling out their vehicles, cutting across landscaping and through short hedges. No one seemed to keep a cool head except a few police and the Professor and his crew.

"So this is catastrophe," Laura said, taking in the sights of excitement and fear. Her eyes met Luke's, then Flora's. There she saw bravery mixed with fright, a fear so pure it put a pressure in their young minds that forced a continuous debate: should I stay, or should I go? Fight, or flight?

'_Fight…_' the young engineer thought silently. '_As much as I would love to soar away right now…_'

"Laura," Layton said sternly, "we don't have much time."

"Right, and there's really only one thing we can do." She pointed around the area, signifying the buildings just past the university's boundaries. "Residential. We have to try to warn as many people as we can. If we don't hurry, this place will be under water, and everyone's going to drown. A tsunami, or several, will follow those tremors." Luke stared hard at the ground as Flora gasped, small gems shining at the corners of her chocolate eyes. "That's the truth. I won't sugar coat it, guys."

Her legs began carrying her, but the Professor grabbed her arm.

"And with your legs? How far do you actually suppose you'll get?"

"I will run."

"We need to take the car—" _Snap!_ He released his clutch on her and recoiled at her slap, looking at her incredulously. "What in the—"

"I did this. I wasn't astute. It's my fault this is happening."

"Laura, I don't care what he said back there, and I don't care if you played a part, it's not logical—"

"Most things that I've experienced don't work out well, Hershel, whether I use logic or not!" She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to punch him! If not for the children, he'd be snorting a fresh flow of blood through his nostrils and tasting iron. "For this, I need to try and warn as many people as I can. If you want the Laytonmobile, then so be it. You need to save Luke and Flora."

While he agreed with her words, the gentleman code kicked him repeatedly, vying for attention. "But…what about _you_…"

"Leopold said, '_Cleanse us of our sins'_… I don't know his motive, I don't know his logic. What I do know is my sin was blindness. I can't help it! I'm guilty!

"So as for me, I will run."

The girl blended with daring reporters and stressed security personnel, and in the Professor's mind, it would most likely be the last time he'd see her alive.

* * *

**END. Review! DON'T FORGET, YOU LITTLE...**


	39. CHAPTER 39: INSTINCT

**Okay, so I thought this chapter was where it would all start, but it's actually quite long, so I broke it up. Next chapter, most of everyone's questions will be answered. Yey.**

**Practicing how to understand simpletons,**

**Kelsey**

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**CHAPTER 3****9****: INSTINCT**

_There is nothing_—nothing—_that prepares you for saving the world from a forced apocalypse._

All thoughts had dried up except for a quiet, prodding interior monologue that was seeping into Laura's mind as she flew down street after street. She started out ignoring the agonizing pulse of pain in her knees, investing all of her energy into yelling at the top of her voice, screaming a warning that fell mostly on deaf ears.

_Nothing. When was I ever prepared for this?_

Her legs throbbed, not having run so fast in years. She was surprised she could even get them to function! The way she was pushing herself now, she wondered whether or not (if they survived any of this) the stress would render her immobile for good.

No sense in worrying though, she thought to herself. Atonement was all that rattled through her brain: forgiveness in exchange for their lives. She could easily afford that, even if it meant excruciating pain. An '_I'll save you if you let me say sorry_' mantra: was that justifiable?

But to the task at hand…

_Some things, life just prepares you for!_

_For certain responsibilities, such as…_

_For a career._

_For falling in love? Perhaps not. I'll get back to that later._

_For marriage? Once more, a rain check, please._

_For taking care of a baby? I suppose. Shouldn't that be natural? Damn it all, who knows._

_And for ditching any pride that you once had, taking to the streets, launching a makeshift career in evangelical preaching tactics, and trying to convert the world to thinking that they are about to die from earthquakes and flooding, all by screaming about it on sidewalks?_

_No, nothing: there is no preparation for that. Especially that._

_And, especially for the realization, that you almost single-handedly caused the whole thing. That it was all your fault, all done under your nose. Your runny, juvenile, idiotic nose._

_No prep for that…_

She stopped momentarily and doubled over in pain, her chest heaving as she breathed in raggedly. Resting her hands heavily on her knees, she tried to inhale slowly, but only coughed as bile snuck up her throat. She swallowed hard, doing her best to keep from vomiting all over the walk. Her sides ached enough to split, and barfing seemed a reasonable reaction to the thought.

Looking around, she felt a hollow, stinging disappointment, no one believing her story enough to evacuate the area.

"No one's…listening…to me…" She saw a car pull into a driveway to a narrow townhouse that she hadn't hit yet. "You! You lot! Didn't you feel that tremor? That was an earthquake, and if the tsunami comes this far inland…" They just stared at her as they closed their car doors and hurried to their house, slamming the door behind them. "Apparently you didn't get the memo?!"

'_They're all going to die! Dumbasses!_'

It had been five minutes since she left the Professor and the kids behind, but she'd covered five short streets already. _How did she do it_? Her legs quivered and threatened to fall apart right there in the middle of the road. People outside continued to merely stare; a few even called back at her, shouting crude comments and blasting her as a religious fanatic with apocalypse on the brain.

What good was any of it…

"You bloody idiots!" she screamed as a retort, hobbling away as quickly as she could. "Don't you know what earthquakes like this will do?!"

But she shoved imminent failure out of her mind and took to running full speed again towards the next houses. Despite her optimism peaking, she cried out as she tripped on a crag in the sidewalk, scraping her knees and palms on the rough concrete. At first it was a cool sensation, then a cutting pain as air licked her wounds. She turned her hands over and watched the sanguine liquid seep out around specks and smears of black dirt. As embarrassing as the situation was, the physical pain was exponentially worse than the mental stab. Her lab coat was already sullied, so she wiped up her wounds as best she could with it, staining the once bleached-white garment with rusty stripes. It didn't matter anyway. She'd probably drown in it, dirty or not.

In that moment, a very slight but persistent vibration coursed throughout the road, the sidewalks, the ground. Then the earth growled and shook, Laura swaying as she tried to stand. The road, houses, trees all blurred as everything vibrated. She ended up grabbing onto someone's upended trash bin for support, but then it all ended just as soon as it had started.

She looked around, waiting with stale breath for more after-shocks. The main quakes would have happened along the Atlantic coast, in the North Sea, anywhere a drill was located. What she wasn't sure of was _when_ the results of such quakes would hit…

"We're so many meters inland, and with an estimated force…how much water could travel the distance…how quickly…" Calculations spilled in her mind, some muddying up others, all becoming a big mess of botched numbers and guessing.

After a few minutes' rest, she resolved to finish the street she was on before going back to look for the Professor, Luke, and Flora. Guessing wouldn't prevent anything. What was done, was done.

"I have to hurry…"

And then, the rush.

It was like an intense static—a wet, surging roar—as a deluge of water wove its path through the city streets. The fluid crashed and seethed, whipping around everything like a pair of greedy hands; clawing and tearing at houses, apartments, buildings; sweeping up cars, post boxes, and other debris in its wake. People were no exception, and everyone still on the streets after Laura's mad warning down the avenue was knocked off their feet and carried along by the crashing flood. A few screams managed to cut through the chaotic sound.

Laura turned and watched in horror, a true deer-in-the-headlights expression pasted onto her pale face. She'd never felt helplessness and fright so tangible as those few seconds when she stood there stupidly, her feet planted firmly on concrete ground, a tidal wave of truth staring her in the face—both literally and figuratively.

'_It actually is happening…_'

For those few moments, the white crests of the greedy waves caught the sun brilliantly, but Laura wasn't appreciative at the moment. Without another thought, she turned on her heels and lunged forward, trying to outrun the oceanic monster that was now nipping at her heels. She took in one large, final breath before the thing caught up with her, slamming the air from her lungs, capturing her—

Instantly, instinct had already kicked in, every cell in her body vying to find air. _THE GOAL. GET TO THE GOAL. I NEED AIR_. The cold sea water coursed around her, enveloping her in a rush of blue and brown and whatever other colors raced past her still-open eyes. She closed them, but not before the salty water stung. In the matter of mere seconds, she had spun and spun, head over feet multiple times, trying frantically to use gravity to make herself upright. Her mind was in disarray, cognizance failing except for basic functions…save breathing.

Laura's arms flailed mindlessly in front of her as she tried to cut through the liquid, seeing nothing but the black behind her eyelids. All of a sudden she was slammed into something hard, something unwavering in the flood. While grateful (if anyone could feel gratitude while being tossed about) that the dizzying tumbling had ended, she had to transfer all her energy into fighting off the pain in her elbows and fingers that had struck the hard surface first. She attempted to scale the wall, but was held fast against whatever she was being pushed up against.

'_I'm…I'm going to black out…I need—I need air—'_

With the flood still pounding around her, she somehow was pushed upward, and her head broke through the turbulent surface.

Instantly, she sucked in a much appreciated breath and clung to the wall like a long lost relative, previously thought dead. A few times her head was pushed back underneath the surface, but after inhaling enough air to regain proper consciousness, she pulled her hair from her eyes; it wrapped about her face like stringy seaweed. Examining her surroundings quickly, she realized she had been struck against a house. Looking up, she smiled as she laid eyes on a second story window, just above her. She pressed her entire body to the wall, spread-eagled, using every stretched muscle to put the sill within reach.

'_If only…I could reach it!_'

As she reached, Laura felt her heart sink as something on the wall buckled, just below her feet. She was pulled under the water once again and sucked into the house as one of the ground floor windows crumbled under the water's pressure. The forced vacuum carried her into the house and into what was formerly a living room. Now, it was becoming a human fish tank, the couch and tables collecting against a wall like underwater monuments. She half-scrambled half-swam wildly over the mound of furniture and found a staircase before the water rose high enough to cover her again.

Thankful for her luck, she barely had enough time to clamber up the steps before the water began seeping in through the front door and busting through other windows. The whole building groaned, protesting the wave's brute strength. The walls creaked loudly, Laura praying that they would hold against the ocean's power.

She ventured into a second-story room—never thinking about who actually lived in the place—and gazed out the window, unbelieving of the sight now below her.

"Oh my God…"

She looked along the strip where the road used to be, getting a quick feel for her surroundings, although her initial reaction was to just sit in the corner and try to fall asleep, try to forget everything. Perhaps she could just die peacefully and no one would know what happened to her...

_NO._

She hobbled throughout the upper level, looking out the window of a room that faced the back lawn of the premises. What was before a beautiful garden was now a turbulent pond, swirling and choking the turf. And then something large and white caught her eye…

With a triumphant gasp, Laura opened the window and leaned out, trying to grab onto a large floating object that had unceremoniously floated and rammed into the back wall of the house. It looked like a simple fishing dinghy, stained with orange rust and chipped paint. The water was high enough now that it almost put the boat right outside the window, as if it were a loading dock.

"If it would just…come this way a bit…more…"

With a final stretch, arm muscles feeling like they were tearing underneath the skin, she ground her fingernails into a small indention on the side of the boat and pulled it with great trouble towards the window. She felt her nails peeling away from her skin, the ocean water burning into the fresh wounds. Finally she managed to secure it near the window with a wet rope left in the thing. Huffing, she looked around the room for something she could use as a makeshift sail. What felt like hopelessness initially, soon turned into disgust as Laura became irritated that she had completely abandoned her wit and creativity in the face of fear.

"I'm such an idiot!" she laughed, shaking her head. Her grin seemed to attest that she was oblivious of the destruction going on around her. Briefly, she might have been. "But of course. If the answer's not right in front of me…

'_Then I'll build one_.'

* * *

The Professor wasn't a runner: he wasn't limber, he wasn't athletic, and with all things considered, he wasn't very malleable in _any_ way. His teaching style remained the same day to day in the lecture halls, he hardly exerted himself physically…so running around screaming like a fanatic preacher wasn't exactly his forte.

"No one's listening, Professor!" Luke cried out, his mousey hair dark where sweat caked his scalp; it was starting to leak down onto his face in several weak tributaries. "And I'm losing my breath…"

Flora covered her mouth, suppressing the urge to wretch. "I can't run anymore, Professor… We should have—_hyerk_—used the car."

"There's no time for that!" Layton snapped, and he instantly hated the situation for getting the best of him.

'_But…this really is useless…Do I really expect to save anyone like this? Running around and yelling something so inane? Would I actually believe someone who was doing what I am doing?_'

He looked down at the children; they clutched their chests and panted like overworked dogs. He'd been so caught up in warning everyone, worrying about himself, worrying about Laura and her reputation, that he forgot about how Luke and Flora felt.

Hardly teenagers, still child-like, their minds were green and fresh. What would these circumstances do to them? How were they handling such a catastrophe? Was it really worth the experience and education, working alongside him while forcing them to grow up and fear the reality of the world so…so quickly? So readily? And—as of late—so _willingly_?

"Professor."

Luke's voice broke the chilling silence.

"What is it, dear boy?"

"I'm not afraid." Building confidence as he talked, the boy glanced at Flora, unsure of whether she felt the same; she merely gawked at him with vacant eyes, bile swelling up her throat.

"You…you're not?" the older man stammered stupidly, as if he was questioning the boy's English.

"No. Maybe I'll be afraid right before I die—"

"—_Don't say such a thing, Luke!_"

"—but I'm not afraid now," Luke mumbled. He set his cap straight. "All I can think of is helping as many people as possible. Even if it's just one, at the end of all things, I did a good thing." He held up an unwavering finger. "Even just one. So you can't give up either, because that's what a gentleman does!"

Layton wasn't so sure he could keep his own hands from shaking. Truth be told, he was scared. He was frightened for his own life. What prepares a person for death chasing after them? The black! The dark! The unknown! If he thought hard enough about it, pushing emotions aside, he was unwilling to see others die: the innocent citizens, Flora and Luke, Laura…

But the thought flashed through his mind several times: water—heavy and cold—snaking its way into his body, clenching his chest, bloating his organs, curing his skin with that salty brine… The blackout, the pain of his lungs without oxygen, his mind fading to nothing…

And there were no credits. Everything was final.

He shook himself back to the currently sunny street, full of rich air, dry without so much as a drop of dew. How ironic.

Again, he eyed the boy.

"Well, you'll have saved more than '_just one_', Luke," the Professor whispered, kneeling to hug the boy close. He pulled Flora to him as well. "Thank you for being strong, you two. Your maturity speaks volumes. Even us adults can get carried away by our worries, can't we. Our responsibilities cloud our minds, but your pure and unburdened hearts remind us of what's the most important. Whatever happens, thank you for being my friends."

"You're welcome, Professor," the girl said quietly next to his ear, squeezing him tightly as she returned the embrace. She swallowed hard to dam the vomit but her hands were clammy. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more. But…I don't feel so good…"

"You do as you are meant to, Flora. We can only do what we're honestly capable of. And at the moment, that needs to be more than standing here condemning ourselves.

"So, before all, let's—"

The wind changed. The air became damp, and _loud_. Intuition piqued, Professor Layton pushed Luke and Flora forward towards a random house.

"Get inside, _now_!"

The boy rattled the door handle, Flora pounded on windows, but all entrances denied them. Then, the Professor spotted an emergency ladder on the side of the house, ending at a second story window.

"_Climb_!"

Flora and Luke looked at him, perplexed. "But—!"

It was a strange sensation, but as the boy felt himself hoisted and thrown towards the metal ladder—Flora soon following in the same way—he realized Professor Layton had more brawn than brain in that moment. They ascended without further protest and waited for the top hat to appear over the rusty floor's edge.

And as the Professor clambered onto the platform, temporary rapids surged through the neighborhood, creating an angry river. It was perfect timing.

"How…how did you…" Flora mumbled clumsily. "That wave…"

Luke wheezed, "How did you know, Professor?"

"We aren't safe here," was the response.

The Professor had removed his shoe, holding it carefully but purposefully against the window. Without warning he pulled his arm back and slammed the heel against the pane as hard as he could, wincing at the kickback. _Crack crack_. After a few more slams, the glass shattered, littering the floor inside with a thousand pieces of sharp, broken window. The shards snapped underfoot as all carefully entered through window, their clothes catching on the remaining pieces still lodged in the frame.

There the Professor, Luke, and Flora stood stock-still, motionless in someone else's bedroom as they listened to the muffled wailing of those swept up outside; to the snarling of the misplaced ocean; to their hearts beating in their ears. As much as they hated being caged—birds with sodden wings—the most they could do was wait until something happened. Would the house crumble or be carried away? How many would unknowingly drown, their families wondering where they ended up?

And for once—staring into a haze, lightheaded and silently distraught—Professor Layton could do nothing about it.

* * *

**END. Don't forget to review, please.**


	40. CHAPTER 40: SPIDER TACTICS

**FINALLY. Yes, it's long. There's a ton of dialogue. Let me know if it's confusing. I rewrote it like….5 times. I actually had most of it wrote out a year ago. DERP.**

**Hunched over like an old-timer,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 40: SPIDER TACTICS**

The pride was ephemeral. Generally she'd be delighting in how well and how _quickly_ she could rig a contraption as comical as a makeshift window fan-powered airboat, but the situation was a bit too dire to welcome such a reaction. Salty spray to the face didn't incite thankfulness for mechanical genius. Instead she spat. And spat. And spat again.

Laura zipped through the forcibly created London canals in her newly-made vessel, her expression grizzly and stony as she dodged floating debris and whatever else could remain buoyant after the wave settled. The waterways were treacherous to navigate as she risked capsizing on several large objects that she failed to avoid; she swore she sped past a few bodies, but she didn't want the thought in her mind that the mound she'd just accidentally rammed into was actually the arched, water-sodden back of a recently drowned person. _It wasn't that, _became a temporary mantra.

The lane became narrower and narrower as she began speeding between houses, trying to listen for voices, attain a visual of those she sought.

She searched like a predator for prey, for the top hat.

"They didn't die," she recited, teeth barred. "No one else dies by my hand. _No one_."

She cursed as more water sloshed over the boat's side and into her sandals. It'd already happened once, twice, three times, but she still hadn't become accustomed to it. Just as she was going to make a sudden turn to get out of the neighborhood, a group of (alive!) people on a fire escape platform caught her eye. They screamed and waved their arms frantically, a mess of flailing blue, brown, salmon-pink limbs vying for attention.

'_Them! It's them!_'

Laura pulled the boat up to the side of the house and shouted upward. "Get down here, we don't have all day!"

"Nice to see you too, Laura…" the Professor grumbled; truthfully he wanted to squeeze her in an embrace that would keep her safe forever, but… As they climbed cautiously into the boat, careful to keep the thing balanced, he was slammed back into reality. The vessel rocked back and forth as they settled into their seats.

"This thing is touchy, rocky, and all around awful," the self-proclaimed captain barked, giving each a stern look. "Don't move a muscle."

"This thing runs on a _window fan_?!" Layton wondered aloud. "But—"

"It didn't _come _with it; I _installed_ it, Hershel. I had no other choice. The thing's motorless, what can I say. I was lucky I had what I had, and the wits to do anything about my lot. You're being rescued, aren't you?" Again, the wind whipped at her face and the salt water stuck to her skin as she took off. "We're making towards the coast. That rotten waste of life no doubt began his escape back to his throne at the drill site. If we hurry, we might have a chance at killing—I mean—stopping him before he does any more damage."

"If you can find the Laytonmobile instead, we can travel in a more…_trustworthy_ ride…"

"You don't trust my skills?"

"It's not that…"

She shook her head. "Nevermind. We'll go look for the car, assuming it's not as functional as all the other vehicles I've passed. I just…I never imagined this would happen…"

There was silence for a bit.

"I don't think anyone could have, Laura, so don't beat yourself up over it," the Professor assured her, breaking the silence.

She didn't respond.

* * *

The children marveled at the oddity that was Professor Layton's car (Laura simply raised her eyebrows in approval). Somehow—more like_ miraculously_—they managed to find it in a mound of cars that had been shoved against a dilapidated conference hall at the university (now an oddly constructed pond). In the mountain of metal the Professor alone spotted it, pulled out a key fob, pressed a single button, and whooped softly as the vehicle came to life as…not a car.

"That's…a hovercraft," Laura remarked, stating the obvious in amusement. "The thing morphs?"

"Indeed. It's the best investment I've made, I must say." The man proudly climbed into the purring 'car' after Laura parked against the hill. The rest followed, their wet clothes slopping against the seats as they buckled up.

"And now," Layton said, turning the key in the ignition, "let's find our man."

As they raced towards the North Sea, the water receded considerably, revealing a hashy marshland with misplaced property. Cars rested atop one-story houses while various bric-a-brac littered lawns, parks, _everywhere_ that they passed by. With still a half an hour left until arriving at their destination, the Layton-boat was rendered immobile. This was discovered as the underside of the thing began scraping against the unforgiving ground, sending Luke sprawling into the front of the car and leaving Flora with a bruised nose as she smashed into the back of the seat in front of her.

"Sorry, back there," the Professor apologized sheepishly while pressing another button. The boat slowly changed back into its regular form, and the four wheels touched ground.

It wasn't long before the twin towers appeared as a misty mirage in the distance. They used the Laytonmobile's hover transformation once more to make it across the water ("Why didn't you tell me _before_ that the stupid thing does this?! Laura snarled) and in a whirlwind of rising anger and emotions, they were inside the office tower.

Keycode, security release: Laura raced ahead of the others. The same hallway that she'd walked down so many times in the past—the decorated walls, the dull glow of the ceiling lights—now made her ill as everything blurred into one color, one emotion as she flew down the corridor.

'_Dead bastard. That's what you are, a dead_—'

She wrenched open the door to his office. Sure as sin, there he stood, riffling through a folder. He looked up in shock, then switched to mock surprise.

"Ah, what a coincidence, Miss Haris," Leopold Chancey crooned, this voice dripping with venom.

"Coincidence? There's nothing coincidental about finding you where you're the most destructive. Not that you haven't already been destructive. What are you searching for? Program passwords? Realized there are a few barriers, did you?" She tried to match his malice but wasn't very effective. His arrogance only seemed to grow.

"Hmm, all very valid points!" he giggled, evading her questions. "But, poor child, you're a bit too late, don't you think?" At that moment the children and the Professor rushed into the room. "Oh, and you brought along company! And none other than the man in the iconic top hat himself!"

"You're a murdering dog!" Luke bellowed, clenched fists held up as if challenging the lean man in the white suit to a brawl. "Don't you realize what you've just done?! You drowned half of London, and who knows how the rest of the country is faring!"

"_Luke_!" Layton admonished, attempting to pull the boy back before his testosterone got the better of him. "Please stay back with Flora."

Timidly, Flora grabbed Luke's arm, and with the Professor's gentle demand was able to keep him from throwing a well-deserved punch at the villain. The boy huffed a few times and stayed put, but glared daggers, swords, and anything else pointy towards Leopold's slick-head. He smiled ruefully towards the group, but directed his comment towards Luke.

"Oh, dear boy, _half_ of London? I do believe the news reports are saying an eighth confirmed dead, and a fourth missing. That's hardly a half. As for towns along the coast, they are in shambles. Not much to say there." He shrugged as if giving up a petty argument. "Misplaced, dead, missing…that's what happens during something like this."

"Stop behaving like it's a natural disaster when _you_ are the cause!" Laura screamed, a psychotic look in her eyes. "Leopold, you're a rotten, lying dirty—"

"Don't address him as 'Leopold'," the Professor interjected. "Let's not degrade Mr. Leopold Chancey by labeling this villain as such. That's not who he is."

All in the room looked at him incredulously, perhaps as if he had just grown two heads, or dyed his hat neon pink. What came out of his mouth just now? Leopold laughed boyishly, but Laura merely gawked.

"_What_?" she snapped. "We don't have time to nit-pick at this sort of thing, he just slaughtered an entire coastline and even more inland, and you're quibbling over _names_."

"But I believe an explanation will make things clearer before anything else comes to pass."

"W…What do you mean, Professor?" Luke whispered.

Layton cleared his throat. "What I mean is, the Leopold Chancey in this room, here before us, is _not_ Leopold Chancey. Plain and simple. Upon my visit to Italy last year, I happened to have a chat with a few acquaintances of the Chancey family. Seems that Leopold lived in Italy for quite some time with his mother and father, who owned and ran a lucrative petrol business."

"Of course they did!" Leopold spat, sneering malevolently at the Professor, tearing him to pieces with his eyes. "Until it was handed off to my uncle, Edward senior, who lived in London. It became too much for my father, so he had my uncle take over, as well as myself as co-owner. As if that was _news_…"

"Is that so?" Layton paced the room several times, circling about until finally stopping five feet in front of Leopold.

"In typical Professor Layton fashion…" Luke said softly with a smile. Flora grinned too.

"And where is your uncle at this moment, Leopold?" the Professor questioned mordantly, the corners of his lips twitching. "Don't you find it odd that your Uncle Edward is hardly ever mentioned by anybody? By the media? By the public? By…yourself? As co-owner of a prestigious oil company, I would think that he would have more to say about the reasoning for Britain's petrol reserves being monopolized and, as the public sees it, tyrannically managed."

Laura cringed in disgust as their culprit let out another shrill laugh, making her spine tingle.

"Tyrannically managed? That's a matter of opinion, you lout," Leopold shot back caustically, his eyes smoldering coals. "And as for the lack of words from my uncle, he wishes to remain out of the public eye. His demeanor as of late is more suited for working behind the scenes, whereas I desire to work in public relations, be known as the company spokesperson. I am the _face_, the _hands_ for the company, whereas my uncle is the _brain_. I have no trouble admitting that. When the world thinks Petrolite, they will see the face of Leopold Chancey. And they will forever know my visage, I am seeing to it."

Layton nodded lazily, affirming Leopold's comments as true. Luke looked at Laura, then at the Professor again, waiting for some sort of turn to the information being given, some sort of purpose for the Professor's statements. Everything that he had mentioned was refuted by the gasoline tycoon, making the situation seem fruitless.

"Professor…" Luke whined softly. Layton held up his hand, signaling for the boy to be silent.

"True, your uncle is _indeed_ out of the spotlight, and has been for quite some time. 'Dad' hasn't even been around to care for his pets." He turned his gaze affectionately towards the window, overlooking the ocean. A flock of gliding gulls circled the air slowly. "Your uncle's birds, Leopold? The creatures imprisoned at the almost-abandoned aviary back at your headquarters? Surely, you know about them."

"I know about _my_ showcase of exotic birds, yes. Why you say they are my uncle's is completely beyond me." He shrugged again as if the accusations could spill off his shoulders like rain on a windshield. "Are you a complete lunatic? Where are you even going with this?"

Laura looked intently at the Professor, ever so slightly shaking her head. "What _are_ you talking about…?" she whispered to herself. She was hoping Leopold would somehow slip up and admit to something, make the Professor's words make sense, but his responses were flawless. Indeed, because he had nothing to hide.

'…_or…does he_?'

"You really should refrain from playing dumb, especially when you are already found out," Layton said with a knowing smile, one that made Leopold feel sick…not that he'd admit to it. "Edward Chancey senior was a bird enthusiast, not merely a watcher for sport, but an avid caretaker for his feathered friends. Edward notably was involved in the rescue of exotic species; I know this as his friend. This fact, paired with the information that I found while touring your grand facility—that there was a large collection of exotic and striking birds in an under-kept aviary—intrigued me."

"So what?!" Leopold sputtered, snorting and grinning in contempt. "Can't another man take on a collection of rare birds? Or does it only have to be his 'notable' uncle?"

"But of course," Layton continued, nodding. "However, I find it odd that those birds would label things so…comparatively. They labeled me as '_Not Dad'_, and Laura as '_Mama_'. Now bear with me, as this could get confusing.

"For the birds to label me as '_Not Dad'_, this would mean that another person would have had to have been called '_Dad_' in the first place. Since the birds were able to differentiate between one who is most definitely _not_ their '_Dad_', there must be a '_Dad_' somewhere. That is the conclusion I've come to."

"That _is_ true…" Luke said with a small nod of his head. "I didn't think of that. I merely thought they were all just so taken with Laura, and had somehow learned a few phrases. I suppose to know '_Not Dad_', though, they'd need to know a '_Dad_' first!"

"I thought the same," Laura spoke up, looking carefully at the Professor. "However, I told you before, Hershel, social birds like macaws will bond with a caretaker, and can be aggressive and even bitter towards anyone else. Perhaps they just…didn't like you, and used whatever vocabulary they knew. I'll tell you now, those birds in particular are _not_ stupid."

Professor Layton nodded, cracking his thumbs at the joints before crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "Yes, and their intelligence makes me believe in my theory all the more. You also told me that the birds never took to Leopold at all; this tells me that he was not their initial owner, or '_Dad_' as they affectionately would have called him. I highly suspect that they never bonded with him in the slightest because it was Edward senior who was their caretaker, the one who loved them dearly. They ended up bonding to you, Laura, because they had been abandoned and latched to the one person who paid them any attention at all. Plus, you have a warm heart deep down. To be honest, your quirky personality quite resembles that of your feathered comrades."

"Oh, very good, Professor, a heartwarming tale of human and fowl camaraderie!" the business mogul scoffed, throwing his head back in a hearty laugh. "Please. I don't pay attention to those tropical runts because they are decorations. They can amuse themselves. I had them flown in for amusement, and others can fool around with them as they see fit. What they squawk—'_Dad_', '_Not Dad'_, '_Mom_', '_Brother_', '_Sister_'—I don't _care_! You have no solid proof of anything you're going on about! And who's to say my uncle isn't involved with them? You have no _proof_ of that, now do you?! I'm sure he goes on and on with their care when Laura isn't piddling around with them."

With a small sigh that sounded more like a revolted grunt, Layton held up his hands as if in offering. "Actually, I do have proof. Your uncle can't _possibly_ be involved with them, or with the company, for that matter.

"After all, he's dead."

Flora gasped, covering her mouth as the truth was revealed to her once more.

"That's right, I forgot," Luke whispered alongside her.

Laura only stared at the Professor, mouth agape, her eyebrows stitched together in disbelief.

"Hershel, what _are_ you going on about—" She caught Leopold take in a sharp yet almost inaudible breath, as if preparing for explanation. His breathing seemed taxed, labored…

'…_or guilty. No hung jury here,_' she chortled internally. '_He must know that the Professor is telling the truth_… _That means Mr. Chancey is actually dead!_'

With a snort, Leopold grinned maniacally, his perfectly bleached-white teeth glittering nervously in the fluorescent light. "You do enjoy stories, don't you, Mr. Layton. If you weren't so _dark_, you could write children's fiction and get paid for it, you know. But I don't think they'd get much out of dead uncles and sad parrots."

"A good story here and there is quite enjoyable, yes. But at this moment? Not at all, Leopold. I merely enjoy the truth, and after finding your half decayed uncle in an abandoned elevator shaft, it's hardly necessary for you to continue this portion of your charade any further."

Leopold clapped his hands together, amused. "A charade, he says! What a character you are, Professor! A real joker, this one! You want to produce your evidence, your _proof_? _Where's my uncle now?_, he says!" The man slapped his knee and laughed joyously, purely elated. "You should consider comedy, you know that?"

The Professor, becoming irritated with Leopold's blatant disregard for the fact that fate was zeroing in on him, sighed. "This is hardly comedic. Truly, you're the one raving like a madman."

"A madman? Then why are you throwing this information out there about me being a fake? As if another can mimic me!" Leopold scoffed confidently. "Stark mad, I think that fits _your_ bill. So my uncle's dead in this very building, and you did nothing about it? And now I'm not me? Ludicrous!"

Luke cleared his throat. "Professor, how _are_ you going to prove that Leopold isn't really….himself?"

"Oh, that's quite simple. Let me sum it up quickly. I mentioned before he lived on the coast with his parents. That is, until he suffered a fatal boating accident."

The room felt heavy, a silence blanketing the entire room. Laura glared at Professor Layton, impatient with his slow progress.

"Elaborate, Hershel…quickly."

"Yes, indeed! Please elaborate for us!" Leopold concurred, clapping his hands. "You're blooming _mad_, you know that, Layton? A very touching story, all of this. Family and birds and your little opinions of my company… Oh, but I can assure you: I'm very much _not_ dead, so quit saying things that will frighten the rest of my company and start a business rumor throughout the city!" he spat. His face slowly contorted with nervous rage, the fake ferocity of a rat against a lion.

The Professor continued undeterred. "As if there'd be a city to spread rumors… I suppose in reality, I have no way to successfully prove that you are not Leopold Chancey, as I've attempted to locate documents from hospitals, funeral homes, doctors, and even the media regarding your death, and there are no forms of proof. I've only had those closest to you attest to your death, but word of mouth could essentially be lies. As there are no formal documents confirming that you're dead, I suppose one would conclude you are indeed still alive. However, there is one thing that tells me 100% that Leopold is dead, and you are indeed someone else—the Book of Memory."

He looked at Leopold carefully, internally congratulating himself that he had finally, successfully, made the man squirm; it was incredibly obvious from Leopold's sudden restlessness and want to shift his weight onto different legs. He had stood with a prideful stance for the entire conversation, and now moved nervously.

The signs of defeat bleeding into his expression, Leopold sucked his teeth and looked about the room, a slight grin on his face.

"You are really liking that book, aren't you?" he asked, a slight quiver in his voice. "I figured you'd enjoy it, being the little archaeologist that you are. Any ancient relic to an archaeologist is like bait. Too bad you won't prove anything, given your thin and brittle knowledge of the thing! All you know about it is whatever rumors they are still publishing in the textbooks! Looks as if you've been usurped, my friend. Yes, I will admit one thing: the Book of Memory is indeed in my possession, but no one has access to it." He smiled broadly, but a false sense of triumph flooded his brain as the truth picked incessantly at his conscience: _He knows….. he knows…._. "Guess I'm the better archaeologist after all. Everyone knows the quickest man gets the glory, at least in the archaeological world."

Smiling warmly, Layton merely rubbed his knuckles, finally folding his hands as his arms hung in front of him. "Yes, you did start out with goals in archaeology, didn't you? I must admit, the powers of the Book are a bit over the top, and are not my typical fare as far as mystical relics go. But after seeing firsthand what it can do, my mind has changed on the matter. And I have more than enough knowledge about it, thanks to a little leak that you have," Layton chortled. "And I don't mean a gasoline pipe leak. Merely, an informational one." He motioned to Laura, surprising her a bit for his blatant admission.

"I, but I—"

"Be quiet for the moment, Laurie," the Professor said calmly. "The truth would have come out sooner or later."

Leopold froze, his breathing becoming dry and ragged. He had failed to recognize her as an equal, continuously passing her off as a gifted adversary that was still beneath him in all aspects…and that failure could be the end of him. He wondered silently, thinking at thousands of meters per second, trying to recall how she could have gotten information about the Book. It was kept under lock and key, its basic characteristics known to the world, but its pages kept closely guarded within his safe.

There was only one possible way the Professor could have firsthand access.

'_SHE HAS A PAGE_.'

His rings clinking against each other, Leopold grunted, sneering in Laura's direction. She looked at him briefly, feeling her resolve shake unexpectedly as she looked into his strained gaze. He was breaking pitifully, and it was rather ugly. His expression made her shiver.

'_Is that how all guilty people look? Is that…fear_?'

"Information leak?" Leopold spluttered, still grinning madly. "Laura's good for constructing machines, not relaying information about archaeological pursuits and treasures. Whatever rumor you heard, you know nothing still!"

"But the page…never lies." Layton pulled out the same paper that Laura had sent the Professor months ago, still pearly white, but slightly more wrinkled than it had been when it had arrived in the post. "No matter how many times it's used."

And Leopold never moved a muscle, but his aura changed completely. He stared, his midnight eyes as menacing as the depths of the ocean, as fierce as the panther in the brush. He said nothing, but his silence gave Laura an uncomfortable sensation in her gut. It was as if he'd come at them with something terrible at any moment, meaning to injure, intending to kill. All they could do was wait…

"Let's have an explanation, shall we?" the Professor chimed in, breaking everyone's concentration.

Leopold sneered. "Oh yes, pray tell. Continue providing such solid entertainment, now with your little scrap paper."

"So we have your shift in goals, the dead Edward Chancey II, the parrots, conflicting information about your very existence…all strange information. As for the page, I started out using it nonchalantly, testing out its powers. I must say I didn't quite believe in them. I'm still curious as to how it works, but I tried it nonetheless. I began with connecting you, Leopold Chancey, to Laura. Now, since you're her employer, and you've had quite a few interactions, this page," he rattled it in the air, "should have shown at least _one_ event, correct? Well, there were none."

Arching her eyebrows, Laura looked from Leopold to Layton. The former never removed his sight from the Professor, instead boring his glare into him. She was sure he wished the man in the top hat dead.

"Then," Layton continued emphatically, "I connected you to your _uncle_, Edward Chancey the second. Surely you'd have a connection to your own _uncle_, is that not a fair hypothesis? Again, nothing within recent years. The last one was when you were around 5 years old."

"Hogwash…"

"It was enough to tell me that the chances were high that you are not Leopold Chancey. And since I had the info that you were supposedly dead, it confirmed it to me even more. So, I thought, why not guess at random who you could _actually _be? Perhaps Edward the second, creating a ruse for some odd reason… No connections to Laura. Or, perhaps his _son_, who supposedly dropped from the face of the earth?"

"_No_…" Laura wheezed, her breath gravely and ragged. Realization hit her harder than the wave had mere hours ago. "No way."

"Edward Chancey the Third. You had five and a half pages worth of entries when I connected you to Laura's name, the start of which was an event around ten years ago, at Grissom's College for Women. Do you recall running into her on your way out of the building? I must say I remember it happening. I have yet to check, but now that I'm revealing this aloud, I question whether or not you were involved in the murder of Headmaster Ginlade. I'll find out later, I assure you. What's another charge for murder when you're responsible for several thousand, right?"

The man's face was like a cat, crafty with an aloof smirk. "Oh really."

"Really. The Headmaster might have been the first, but definitely was not the last. You picked off anyone who stood in your way or bested you at anything during this entire game you've been playing. The string of archaeologists who were found dead? The maids that came up missing? Your uncle, his good friend Arthur Thackman? The decreasing workforce behind your petrol façade? You killed your geological engineers after they gave you rejections to drill. Anyone that Laura and I had encountered who had background information about your family…you murdered. I mapped everything, traced their names to _you_. After figuring out what your agenda was, I predicted that I would be the next victim after—"

Fierce tears glazed Leopold's eyes. He smiled wolfishly, his pointed, pearly teeth flashing as he broke into a full-blown screech. "Heh heh. Heh heh ha ha ha. HAHAHAHAHA_HAHAHAHAHAHA!_"

"I think he's lost it," Luke said matter of factly.

"Oh my, what a show. Only you, Professor. Only the grand Layton. Don't flatter yourself. '_The next victim_'?Oh goodness. Oh good _God_, you're a _riot_…

"Yes, let me introduce myself. And _indulge_ that ego of yours…"

He removed the rings and peeled off the wig: the slick hair had been fake all along, hiding a less gelled scalp full of mousey brown hair that fell into his eyes dramatically. Apparently, his face was fake too. With a wrapped moist towelette from his pocket he mopped around his cheeks, his eyes… Behind the make-up mask was a younger countenance, handsomely chiseled yet shadowy, his eyes full of wrath and vengeance. Those never changed; he couldn't hide those even if he tried.

The children gasped and Laura stared, stupefied. She felt her stomach flip, and wondered if she could hold down any of its contents. Her gut felt hollowed and vacant, a nauseating heat rising up her throat.

The young man leered condescendingly as he gave a dramatic bow. "I am Edward Chancey the Third. My father—not my uncle—was of the same name, Edward the Second, and indeed, you found him half _digested_ by the trash chute in this very building. His blood is on my hands; I won't deny you that. As you love placing blame, and are quite _adept _at it, I'll let you have your win before I have mine. Layton 1, Edward 0."

"W…Why…?" Laura mouthed airily, shaking her head as if dazed. "Why would you…any of this…"

"_Why_? Well, the short answer is that I don't like being disrespected. The long winded version: I had a throne laid out for me by my father, and it was _stolen_ right from under my nose. Denied the most coveted scholarship that all the universities in Britain had to offer—the very one that my own father set in place—and months later, my own expertise rejected by _this beady-eyed git_." He stabbed a spindly finger towards the Professor. "And whose know-how was trusted in the end? Why, yours little Laura. They chose _your_ machines for their archaeological digs, not mine. And from then on out, it was denial after denial, rejection after rejection.

"I decided early on that both fields—archeology and engineering sciences—needed a thorough cleansing. And would you look at that? '_Archaeology_' includes _you_, Layton! My main goal was to make you pay, but not immediately; it would have been too obvious right after you'd denied my bid machines. I knew I would have to wait, and I needed an outlet to execute my plans. That's when I made the decision to take on my cousin's persona. I would become Leopold, and destroy all evidence to his death…including those that knew about it.

"When the Book of Memory conveniently ended up in my lap, I became obsessed with it. What _fun_ to have such a mystical artifact in your hands… Do you understand the information that thing holds? Regardless, I started small. The Book became a sort of hobby. I'd mix and match the names, see who knew who, what was what. Found out quite a bit of juicy news for some of those archaeologists, especially that carousing idiot Thackman. And it was fun to hang some of those blokes' dirty laundry for all to see… I had outlets where I could reveal their nasty little habits. Some would commit suicide. Others weren't so easy to off, so I'd…find ways to go about it. Death is messy though, so I can't say I was the one causing the final blow.

"But I never lost focus: you were my target the entire time. I merely realized I didn't need _any_ of these big shots thinking they could ever sneer down on _me_, so they all became my targets. The Chancey name is written into the very fabric of engineering and archaeological findings, and without my name added to the books, well…what a _travesty_.

"But don't blame me alone, Professor," he chortled thickly, clapping his hands before crossing cream-sleeved arms. "Blame yourselves, my lab rats. Feel privileged I let you be a test subject. Those drills worked marvelously, didn't they?"

"You sick little shit—" Laura growled under her breath as she stepped forward, just before getting cut off.

"Oh, I'm not only blaming you, and I'm not finished, despite your confession," the Professor said softly, holding his hand to his chin. He continued to pace the room, on the brink of becoming lost in thought. He acted as calm and collected as if he were back at the University, trying to solve some petty conundrum rather than unravel a sinister plot. His face was expressionless, his breathing even. "There is one thing that has been bothering me, and if my hunch is correct, then I would say we have an accomplice on our hands. In this very room."

"What?!" Luke gasped, stepping back a bit. "This isn't done yet?!"

Laura looked at the Professor with an odd sort of curiosity, wondering with bated breath about what he was going to reveal next.

"Indeed. You see, in order to secure my demise, Mr. Chancey here would have needed to keep tabs on my comings and goings, any information on my whereabouts, who I was talking to, et cetera. And, while it's perfectly reasonable to assume that he acquired this knowledge himself, I'm sure he was much too busy with his oil refineries, as well as plotting this entire scheme. I have uncovered a little secret; another individual was responsible for retrieving such info. Someone else did the dirty work, and reported to Mr. Chancey in confidence. I'm sure Edward here didn't imagine I would end up narrowing in on _him_, before he had the chance to surprise me with the Grim Reaper.

"And the person that was working alongside Edward Chancey, although they did not know it was him at the time, is you."

He turned around in a sort of lazy pirouette—a slow, lethargic spin—as if he were reluctant to reveal what he knew, but knew that he had to. Withholding information would cause guilt, a festering truth that wanted release. It was his way. He raised his arm and pointed in front of him with great difficulty as he stared ahead, half in disbelief, half in disappointment, although none knew these feelings as closely as the person whose eyes he was looking into.

Laura blinked, the rest of her face motionless. All eyes turned to her and held her in an invisible web woven by their incessant gazing. Edward continued to gape, the rest of his face like stone, while Luke shook his head slowly, perhaps for the first time untrusting of the Professor's logic.

"No…no, you're wrong," the boy whispered. "Laura wouldn't, she—she couldn't do it. She won't admit to this, she can't! It's not true!"

"Professor, you're _wrong_!" Flora cried, shaking her head violently. "You're just _wrong_!"

"_Stop_. I have no reason to hide it," Laura said clearly, appearing to be calm. She kept her hands folded neatly in front of her as her eyes started first on the ceiling, then moved to look at her accuser."I've never been a liar, and I don't intend to be one now. I'm quite unlike this demon." She cast her eyes towards Edward. "Without fail, Hershel. I expected as much. You are truly something else, you know that?" She smiled gravely as she spoke, the first change of expression she'd made in the past quarter hour. "I expect a thorough explanation of how you found out. Spare no detail. I thought I was in the clear."

Luke kept shaking his head in disbelief, ears begging to un-hear what he'd just heard. "L…Laura? You _knew_ about all this?! You wanted to harm the Professor, to _kill_ him?! But—but _why_?! How could you!"

"Keep silent for a moment, Luke," she admonished him, a finger to her lips. "In my defense, I didn't know about_ all_ of this. Leopold's –_Edward's_—interests were primarily focused on making the Professor pay for what he had 'done' to him; that much I knew. I merely knew him as Leopold Chancey, a man with archaeological interests who saw the Professor as a threat. He wanted to make a name for himself in the fields of engineering and archaeology, but Layton destroyed that dream almost single-handedly by rejecting his technology, declining his research. And we all know the list of successes and achievements the Professor has, concerning archaeological pursuits. In regard to dethroning him, I was all for it. I had my own reasons for tarnishing his reputation.

"But now, I see it was deeper than all of that," she said, swallowing hard. She flashed a wry smile, sighing. Layton remained motionless, intently listening as she continued. "And that's all the background I knew. I didn't realize it would turn into this. Initially, I assumed that his 'grand scheme' he kept mentioning was something along the lines of forcing the Professor into obscurity, making some great discovery that would shatter the archaeological world. I will admit, the notion of putting some pressure on you, Hershel, was tempting, tempting enough to make me work harder on the project set out before me. So I did. I built a machine the likes of which no one has ever seen. I would wager it could drill through the earth's crust entirely, if given some minor modifications… The possibilities archaeologically are limitless.

"But the reality of Edward's plan…" She shook her head slowly, her eyes glazing over. "No. I never knew. I didn't know about the real reason behind the drilling, I knew nothing about the earthquakes, the ocean waves. I knew about the hopes of excavating, then the switch to oil. But all this…no. I would never do something to truly harm you, or anyone for that matter. It was my job to build, not survey the area, the geological implications." Her voice warbled as her breath hitched in her throat. She grunted as she cleared it, pretending that her emotions weren't exposed. "I wanted you taken down a notch, yes, but only competitively so. I never would wish someone dead. Especially at the expense of a great many others being hurt and killed in the process. That's just not me. It's not my place."

Then she regained her typical snark and gave the Professor a sharp glare, smiling craftily. "I'm not _that_ egotistical."

Edward chuckled haughtily, rolling his eyes. "Wow. You both are truly a match, aren't you? A beautiful confession, Laura! A real saint, you are! Doesn't matter. You still built a death machine, one that I'm going to use for my bidding! I don't care what lousy philosophy you hold: I'm going all out with my plans." He continued to laugh, a disturbing cackle. Laura tried to ignore him, looking upward, her gaze held in the Professor's. She silently pleaded with him to believe her, small tears forming at the corners of her eyes. After several moments, Edward capped the mirth and wiped his eyes, his own tears overflowing joyfully.

"Hershel, you have to believe me," the girl whispered sadly.

Layton broke his gaze. "I know you wouldn't kill anyone, Laura. I know you too well. You know what it's like to die emotionally, and to come back again."

"It doesn't matter! _That's enough chatter_," Edward spat, throwing his arms into the air in frustration. "Keep your metaphors for someone who cares. Laura's had just as much a part in this as anyone, even more so as she's the brain behind it all. You said it yourself! Literally, _it's all her machine_. Her machine is going to _drown_ a large portion of the world, including you! Don't try sugar coating it, Layton! She wanted to kill you, see you suffer, _see you beg for your life as much as I did_. As much as _I still do_. She didn't know it was me, but it didn't matter! She's too scared to dig down deep, _deep in herself_, and admit that she wants you to be pained. Now how's _that_ for a metaphor!"

"No, that's not true!" Laura cried out, turning towards Edward. The look in her eyes was manic. "I never wanted—"

"Laura, don't bother with him," the Professor warned quietly. "Don't waste your energy. He's goading you."

"Yes, don't bother going against my truths, right, Laura?" Edward leered at her, grounding his words into her mind with every cackle and screeching laugh that came out. "Don't go against facts! You love those, don't you? Well, here's a big one: you're a monster. A menace to society. Oh wait. They won't know any better, because they'll all be _dead_. Don't worry, I'll write it in the history books for those that manage to live.

"But before you die, Layton, why don't you tell us how you figured out your little _treat_ was a little _traitor_? I'm curious at how much you uncovered about my Book."

Trying to ignore his whiny and equally nerve-wracking comments, Laura directed her attention back at Layton. "Yeah, how did you know…?"

"Do you remember, Laura, back in my office when you first sought my help, when you mentioned the possibility of me being killed if I wouldn't listen to you? I found that terribly odd and dramatic of you." Laura stared at him stupidly for a moment, then nodded. "This told me that you knew of something dire, more dire than what you were leading me to initially believe about who was then Leopold. You might not have known that Edward's plans were so _villainous_, but you _did_ know that he had some sort of revenge planned, and you were expressing guilt by seeking me out for help.

"Finally, and more conclusively, once I knew the basic function of the Book of Memory, I decided to go back to the page you originally sent me in the post. I looked more closely at the entries between you and I. What I noticed were several instances over the years where we had supposedly 'met', yet perhaps did not notice. I found this curious, as you said you made a conscious effort to steer clear of me for a decade. Yet according to the page, there you were _following_ me. It was too often and too perfect to be coincidental.

"After I suspected that Leopold was Edward and decided to test his name with yours, what do I find but meetings between you two. Meetings that closely coincide with my mysterious run-in's with you, Laura. To me, this means you would conduct some sort of reconnaissance on myself, then meet up with your superior. This happened for about three years, when all of a sudden, the meetings stopped. Assuming you're telling the truth, this is when you realized your employer was up to something more dastardly than trying to compete with me for fame, or drilling for oil.

"And now, here we are."

Laura shook her head, smiling, yet wholly disappointed in herself. "It seems I don't have the Book all figured out after all. I never thought that my _spying_ on you would have shown on the page's entries. I thought that two people had to _consciously_ witness one another to have a memory occur on the list. As you had no clue that I would follow you, I thought such information wouldn't show up."

"That does make sense somewhat, but I learned differently after we discussed our 'unknown' meeting back in your elementary school days."

"You knew each other when Laura was in grade school?!" Luke exclaimed. "This is getting weirder and weirder!"

Professor Layton laughed. "Indeed, we met on one occasion, and one occasion only. You see, Laura, the reason that meeting did not register was because we did not fully _know_ one another. I had heard of your name, but you did not know mine. When two people introduce themselves and learn one another's names, you form a sort of bond; you have a sort of 'power' over them: the power to bend them to your call when you utter their own personal title. This creates a meaningful memory, one that the Book somehow picks up on. How it does it, is another question. Regardless, this is how our minds work.

"So, since we know each other, even if one person isn't aware of the other's presence, it will show on the page as a connection. It is how I was able to read where we had 'met' over time, although I never physically _saw_ you."

Amazed, Laura kept shaking her head. "I suppose I underestimated it. That page was dangerous in your hands."

He smiled kindly, and cleared his throat. His eyes were darkened by the brim of his hat, but Luke and Laura could tell he was eyeing Edward with malice uncharacteristic of him. "Not as dangerous as in the hands of this criminal. Edward, you've been using the Book as a tool to frighten others, to play with the emotions of those whose names you chose to send to the page. Those people you wanted dead, you knew every action of their pasts, and you preyed on the weaker of them, making them turn on themselves. Those who didn't take their own lives…you took it upon yourself to end them. Anyone that knew anything about you and your family, you took their lives away! That's not the purpose of that book, and you have no right to the information it possesses."

All of a sudden, he turned his entire body sharply to face Edward, his expression hardening, his movements more direct and confident. Arm outstretched, he pointed at the man responsible, verdict made. "Now then, enough's enough! You've been found out, Edward Chancey, and your plan revealed! So let's put this to an end. Even more lives are at stake, and—"

"_**Your confidence means nothing to me**_."

Edward no longer quaked or stood with his jaw dropped. His eyes weren't flooded with furious tears; they burned passionately. He looked almost lost, but not the kind of lost where one is unaware of his surroundings. He was lost mentally. Something had snapped. "When my plans are in motion," he said in a low tone, scoffing as he gazed off to the side, "they don't _stop_ being in motion. I don't follow Newtonian physics, if you knew _anything _of what I am speaking about, you silly, farcical little man." He let out a rocky laugh, as sharp and gravely as forks on plates.

"_For every action there's a reaction_, Edward," Laura said with an air of warning, the only one in the room fit to challenge him in scientific puns. "This needs to end, or else it will destroy you as well as everyone else! You never took into account the—"

The ground shook suddenly, a deep, slow grumble. The earth was yawning, waking from rest. The windows rattled. The ocean rippled and broke with each thunder of force. Laura stared around with eyes wide as if expecting the place to collapse, fear shaking her to the core. Luke looked at his hands and limbs, shaking uncontrollably without his consent, then over at the Professor. Layton's brows were knit, and the boy followed suit, forming two tight fists, angry yet afraid, trying to hide a dread that he didn't quite understand. A gentleman wouldn't be scared, he thought, even if he was lying to himself.

"It's already being done," Edward chirped softly, daintily as if speaking about flower arranging or travel planning. His voice rose and fell, his intonation mocking. "Allllllll this tiiiiime we're wasting? My drills, here, and around the world, are sparking, starting... All responding to my call. Don't you love long-distance relationships?"

"Then turn them off, Edward!" Luke shouted. "You can still save everyone! You can have a second chance!"

"Innocence… It's almost charming," the villain crooned. "Innocence doesn't save you when you've already hit the bottom, brat. There's no life preserver for the damned. Sorry."

"Edward, it doesn't _have_ to be this way," Layton tried reasoning, honest care in his voice. He knew he had to be careful. The man standing in front of him was unpredictable, and was absolutely amoral, which was more dangerous than _immoral_. It would be close to impossible to get him to see sense. "We're running out of time, and so are you. You can't think you'll get away with this, with your life intact, do you?"

"I got this far."

He walked towards the desk, grabbing what looked like a ratty and tattered book. Its spine was broken, with loose pages sticking out here and there. The only curious thing was that the pages showed no signs of aging, much unlike the roughly handled book. The pages were a ghostly white and they seemed to glow with a hidden power.

Layton looked at the book with interest, then at its holder.

"Is that the—"

"The Book of Memory? Indeed, it is. Do you like it? Your first time seeing the real deal?" He lifted it up, its spine against his palm, turning it around. The loose pages flapped limply like the corners of napkins. His wrist cracked as he twisted the tome in all angles. "I wouldn't want it getting anymore damaged than it is, honestly…"

"Then give it to me," Layton said sternly, reaching out to him. It was obvious to Luke and Laura that the archaeologist was wincing internally at the thought of bare human hands contaminating the relic with their oils. "I can preserve it, I can ensure its safe keeping."

The young man snorted loudly, his mouth curdled in a gross smile. "To _you_? Why would I give it to _you_? So you might have a chance at another accomplishment? Another title? More fame? Why, but you'll be swimming soon, Professor. Hopefully drowning, but definitely swimming. We wouldn't want this lovely artifact getting wet, now would we?"

"Edward, just _stop_ it, there's emergency routes for the drill," Laura begged, a feeble attempt to avoid the inevitable. "We can end its path without extensive consequences. Please, just—"

"Quite enough, Miss Haris. Look, it's been great fun, but the show must go on, so without further ado, I wish you well. Get ready to tread water."

"Edward Chancey, your parents would be completely disappointed in you for this, more than you realize!" Layton shouted in earnest. "If you never felt adequate before… You most _certainly_ wouldn't be well thought of for this!"

The expression on Edward Chancey's face was frighteningly serene as he spoke his last to them, his eyes blank, devoid of feeling. He gave a finalizing smile, closing the lid of the casket. "I proved my mother clinically insane, stuck her in an asylum, and I murdered my father. Do you think I really care what disappoints them?"

As another blow struck the earth, in a split second, Edward made a dash for the door behind the desk, leading into the auxiliary room. Layton jumped forward, meaning to intercept him, but was too late. The door slammed and locked with a loud click. Luke ran to his side as he attempted to force the door to open. It appeared more as if he had a grudge against the doorknob, strangling it with all his might.

"You won't get in," Laura said, her tone rising over the Professor's angry grunts and shouts towards Edward beyond the door. "The vase key is missing. Must have planned this out. Come, we need to get to the control deck and shut these things down manually before another burst!"

"Good thinking!" Luke punched the air and rushed to the other door, the way they'd come in. Layton followed, grabbing the boy by the shoulder.

"No, Luke, you won't be following," he said, trying to remove the urgency in his voice. He knelt down to Luke's level. "This is much too dangerous, do _not_ try talking me out of it. I _need_ you and Flora to get back to the coast and try to sound the alarm with the police. Surely Inspector Chelmey will have wised up by now and—"

"But—!"

"As a future gentleman in the making, the most crucial training starts now. Do I make myself absolutely clear?!"

For once, the child didn't protest, merely nodding to show his understanding. "Of course, Professor… But…please be safe. And keep Laura safe too."

"I will, you can be sure of it."

Leaving the office behind them, they ran down the hall and through the metal screen doors into the elevator lobby.

"You'll be safe, Luke," Laura promised. "The Professor has a fool-proof car…er, hovercraft." She hugged the boy close, unsure of whether or not she'd see him again. Fighting tears, she released him and did the same to Flora. She felt the girl clasp her hands tightly behind her neck. "Be Luke's support, okay? I know it's scary, but you'll be fine."

"Okay…" she whispered, sniffing heavily. "We'll do our best."

They hugged the Professor as well, hoping their tears wouldn't stain the man's jacket. It really didn't matter, but it was the first thing on their mind. Anything to take away the visceral burning inside.

"You'll return to the coast as soon as you're done with the computer?"

"As soon as we can, Luke."

They hurried to the boat, and Layton assisted them safely inside. He ignited the machine and initiated the autopilot.

"Be safe, my boy. Flora dear, you provide more confidence in Luke than you realize. Be strong."

Laura heard him sniff, and she wasn't sure whether to feel worse for him or for the children. Their separation seemed odd and wrong at best. She refused to acknowledge it as a true 'goodbye' and didn't wave or even watch them leave. Within seconds, the Laytonmobile skidded off like a giant rock thrown across the surface, and it shrunk to a marble size before more vibrations shook the metal stairs.

"Let's go, Hershel."

Laura turned and headed back the way they came, listening for the Professor to follow. They returned to the hallway leading to Edward's office, but stood instead to enter a locked room on the opposite side, a few doors down from the office. After the code was entered, the door opened into a completely white, sterile room with walls lined with computers, monitors buzzing and blinking with current feedback from all of the drills in Laura's care. The lights were dim, making the charts and pressure readings all the more ominous. The place looked important even without the given state of affairs.

The Professor gawked around in disbelief, any possibility of understanding fleeing from his mind. Some of the screens flickered from one graph to another, the acid green lines and bars rapidly changing in succession as differences among the machines' drilling output occurred. Pressure gauges rose and fell as the machines drilled different layers of the earth's crust. A few screens flashed the word '_TERMINATED_'.

Already busied, Laura clicked and typed away at one of the largest mainframes, lines of code flashing on the monitor angled above her. Her skin was a sickly green from the screen's glow.

"If I can rearrange the path of the drills, we may have a chance to stop them from doing the worst possible damage," she muttered sloppily, trying to focus as she explained. "I already put in some safety measures to slow them down; that's what delayed them. Otherwise, we wouldn't have been able to get here _or_ have the conversations we just had. However…they _will_ keep going, no matter how I rearrange them."

"_Rearrange the paths_? Just stop them!" Layton urged her.

"You're going to stop a 6,000-tonne machine, dead in its tracks?" she snappishly retorted, as if he couldn't have been any dumber. "You arts and letters types aren't very keen on these sorts of things, are you?"

"Not every day I'm fighting for the world's future because of a gigantic monster drill, Laurie… And I'm not mathematically inclined beyond algebra and basic Euclidian geometry."

"Fair enough. Well, for the scientifically-challenged, I'm basically guiding it in such a way to slow it down, _and_ make it avoid fault lines. I can attempt to make it stop immediately all I want, but it's going to do what it's going to do before it finally stops. Therefore, by making it at least go on an angled path first, it won't dip as deep as it would going straight down, and it'll buy us more time by _possibly_ avoiding the fault." She stopped clicking the keyboard keys and looked over briefly. "I'm concerned about where Edward went. I'm sure he didn't _stay_ in there. I don't trust him to do anything good, so maybe you should check on him." She pulled up a set of images from camera footage on her screen. "Nothing. All frozen frames. He rigged it. Asswipe."

The Professor took the hint and rushed to the door. "As much as it kills me to leave you alone, I suppose—"

"When that door shuts, it's impossible for anybody to get in. It'll lock. Don't worry."

"I'll go and search nearby. Shout if you are in need of help."

She nodded, all he needed to be off. He flew to Edward's office again and gasped. The door that was locked, the one Edward barricaded himself in, was wide open. Excited yet wary, he tread carefully to the doorway, peering inside. No one seemed to be present. Now was his chance.

Knowing the place would soon be rubble anyway, should the plan fail, he ripped through the room's contents, tossing drawers and books from their shelves, silently apologizing as small artifacts and random bric-a-brac were tossed unceremoniously to the carpeted floor. The more brittle of the bunch shattered and cracked.

"It's got to be around here somewhere," he growled, furious. "He couldn't have left carrying it around, could he? It'd slow him down keeping that thing intact, where'd he lock it away?"

As much as he tried, the Book of Memory was nowhere to be found. His breathing was erratic, his system thoroughly wore out after searching so vigorously. He couldn't help but be crushed.

"Finding that relic would be a huge feat to the archaeological community," he whispered harshly to himself. "And it's in the hands of that scoundrel, no, that _felon_. I'll never live it down if—"

Another earthquake. Giving up the chase, Professor Layton abandoned the office and took again to the hallway, looking for a sign of Edward. The place was empty. Only the echoes of the quaking earth were heard along the tunnel.

His spine shivered as someone let out a series of blood curdling screams, like a banshee in the tunnels. They echoed louder than the vibrations all around him, and then whatever it was shrieked his name. The color drained from his face as he recognized the voice.

"Laura."

'_How long was I gone…?!_'

In a second he was at the computer lab, banging on the door, looking through the metal-enforced pane-glass window. Without the password code, he had no access, but it didn't take long for him to realize Laura wasn't in there. He did not know the way, but he instinctively relied on his intuition, navigating along the hallway until he emerged into the drill chamber several meters inward.

Layton traced the circumference of the chamber, following the narrow metal pathways. He gripped the railings, suddenly afraid of the endless drop in the middle of the cavity. It smelled differently than the last time he was there, and the sounds emanating from the pit were eerie.

His head spun, vertigo gripping his conscious.

"Good Heavens, this is enormous…"

With a shake of the head, he rearranged his top hat and kept his eyes forward, intent on finding the source of the screaming. Whatever the cause, he vowed to make it scream and squirm as much as Laura, if not more.

* * *

**END.**

**Haha, how many recalled Edward Chancey the 3rd even EXISTING? He alludes to this in chapter 12... :3 Which is actually longer than this chapter, believe it or not.**


	41. CHAPTER 41: WHITE-COLLAR DELUSIONS

**This might be my favorite chapter ever. Of all time. It pretty much goes down how I wanted. If only it were animated. This entire chapter was inspired by a song, the 'Detra-Giant Appears', which is from the Professor Layton movie soundtrack.**

**To enhance your experience, after reading this thoroughly, try picture this being animated. You'll have to make the lines fit with the song I mentioned to add the background music. If you start reading where Edward first starts talking and start playing the song (here, without spaces: www . youtube watch?v=LEyn1GRtNVE&list=SP12243978ED5B1469), and if you get all the dialogue in until Laura says, "Worry about your own damn light" by 40 seconds, the song gets action-like, and that's when Laura starts running. Of course, the song runs out too soon, but in my mind, this chapter was BORN from those 40 seconds.**

**Anyway, I'm weird. Leave me alone.**

**Holding Santa hostage,  
****Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 41: WHITE-COLLAR DELUSIONS**

"Damn it all!" Laura shouted, pounding the computer keyboard hard enough to dislodge several letter keys. "Locked out of my own program!"

She shot up and pushed the swivel chair out of the way as she darted out of the computer room, leaving the flashing monitors behind. Trusting her legs more than she should have, she darted around corners and through the halls before finding herself in the drill chamber. The metal walkways spiraled around the circular space, diagonal staircases set at intervals in order to descend to the next level of the coiling pathway.

At the very topmost level, there was a little niche cut into the wall, housing a set of tall, double-monitor computers. They lined a portion of the path like sentinels, a motionless guard. Laura raced to them, typed in her password, and began bypassing the security barrier that Edward had so conveniently managed to put in place, specifically to keep her out.

"His little failsafe plan... Must be what he was busy doing when he locked himself in that stupid office annex…"

'_Did he really plan all this out…? Locking me out so I couldn't change anything? I can't switch the drills' paths at all! I'll have to shut down the main power source to do anything…_

'_But that would shut off all of the pressure pumps. If I don't maintain a sound air pressure down below, everything will crumble and cave in. Who knows what that would do…_'

"I'lljust implement the back-up generators so that the pressure pumps can maintain facility structure, or else this place is going to crumble inward on itself," she said aloud, as if hearing the words would prove her theory_._

'_It's all so risky! If something were to go wrong… I just wanted to redo the programming code and guide the stupid thing another way! I'm going to have to hack it to do things my way, and I probably won't have time!_'

"Oh, I hate him!" she hissed, causing an echo barely audible.

"Hate who?"

The soft whisper spilled into her eardrums before her own voice had a chance to reach them. She slunk off to the side, but not before gasping, the sharp intake of breath bouncing off the walls like a flutter of bats. Edward had entered the computer space; when, Laura did not know. He wore a smug expression, his grin tilted and sarcastic, but small strands of his gelled hair poked out at random angles, making him look a bit humorous. That is…if he weren't mentally lost.

Her eyes darted to his hands, which were empty. The last thing she needed was a madman with a weapon in this tight space, but 'nothing' in his hands didn't necessarily equate to 'nothing' underneath his jacket…

"You wouldn't happen to mean _me_, would you?" he said dramatically, an air of feigned hurt lacing his voice.

"What are you doing?" she croaked. She was trying to maintain her poise, but felt her resolve deteriorating. "Why'd you lock me out of my own program?"

"Come now, Laura, you really need to ask? You're trying to thwart my plans, why would I just allow you complete access to all of my company's information and programs?" He shrugged, letting out a mellow laugh as he approached her. "Now, if you were being a quiet, nice little worker, I'd have thought nothing of it. However, you've been everything _but_ that."

She couldn't hold back a snarl; she was completely peeved, and forgot herself. "Why would I just sit back and let you kill the whole populace of the planet, just because you feel inadequate? You've gone mad. Just shut it down, or let me shut it down…_safely_."

"Safely? Hmm, no, I don't think so. That would be too easy, and I don't think you like easy, do you, Laura?" He looked about the area, his eyes widening. "Where's your little professor pal, and his little friend? Ditched you? Like he did before?"

"Stop stalling me."

"Not that I could blame him. The girl who will be single-handedly responsible for the deaths of millions of people. Not the most attractive feature in a woman, no…" He paused. "Nothing to say?"

Ignoring the close-to-insufferable taunts, Laura attempted a discrete glance at the computer. The progress bar of her hack was at 80%. She'd begun cracking the block when Edward emerged, and was close to being able to initiate an emergency shut-down without cutting the entire power source. It had a 65% success rate, but it was better than shutting _everything_ down. The possibility of the counter-pressure measures failing meant that the entire underground facility would implode on itself due to the earth's own subterranean force, making the chances of success a permanent, resounding _zero_.

'_Come on, a lousy 20% more…_'

"I have nothing to say to your taunting, Edward," she retorted coolly, folding her arms across her chest. She immediately regretted her haughtiness.

The man's face changed, much like it had back in the office. His eyes looked frosted and vacant, distant from the current reality. Lost in his own world, Edward grinned.

"You don't have to say anything." He took a step forward, causing Laura to jump a bit, her muscles anticipating an attack. "It's really too bad you couldn't have just kept quiet. Why'd you have to go meddling? Why'd you have to go and get _him_ to help you? Couldn't do it on your own, understandably, but really, _him_? We both wanted him destroyed, why'd you have to go and do that, huh?"

"I didn't want him dead…"

"Whether you admit that you did or not, I don't care, but you just had to ruin it. It would have been clean and quick. But no, I had to go destroying everyone with info on me, anyone with potentially destructive information, because _you_ kept seeking them out, trying to play inspector. So, ultimately, you killed them all off…"

He stepped closer. Laura retreated an equal amount of steps that he advanced and soon she'd be out of reach of the computer. She felt the sweat on her face, under her arms, on her palms.

"Those two wench maids, the idiot engineer with the _cabaret_, I suppose you could call it…" he continued, trailing off with a snigger. "Oh, there were others, old friends of my father. Archaeologists, engineers, the like. I had to cover my tracks. Anyone that led to me had to _die_. Even before you began meddling, there were others. Those who are the closest to us will hurt us the most, I'm afraid, as you attest. But all those _deaths…_do you realize that you're responsible for that?

"And as for that Ginlade character…yes. Layton was right about that one. The headmaster had to die too. Against me, he was. I wanted him to get rid of Layton for ruining my reputation, destroying my name by denying me the QwiqLogiq scholarship." He beamed at Laura's confused facial expression. "Yes, Laura. He chose your little drills, your engineering expertise, and he didn't even know who you were yet. But he'd put in quite a few good words about you, nominated you essentially. Oh no, that wouldn't do! Being bested by some peon girl. And Ginlade wouldn't see things my way.

"Do you remember him well? I think it was _his_ death that really sparked my interest in obliterating anyone that crossed my path. That's why the world must go. Those who are capable of survival…so be it; they will have passed my test. The weak, they cannot be considered into the equation. After all, survival of the fittest. Can't say I enjoy the _mess_, especially with Ginlade. I figured the cyanide would have been instant, but apparently he caught on to what was in his tea that morning."

"You're psychotic," Laura sneered, sucking her teeth. She was becoming very uncomfortable in his presence. Edward was basically a ticking time bomb, a loose cannon, a vat of dangerous acid ready to boil over, and she presumed that he was relaying details and minute facts in order to catch her off guard.

"Hmm, perhaps. Yes, I went a little overboard with the stabbing, but Ginlade was a big man, and he wouldn't have went down with just _one_slice. Yes, that _was_ a mess, but well, you know how that goes."

'_No, I don't!_'

Laura's nostrils flared; she was thoroughly disgusted. The computer screen caught her eye, and she screamed internally with delight. '_1%_..._come_ on!'

Then he smiled sweetly, sickeningly. "It's when the light leaves their eyes… _That's_ the sweetest moment."

The girl inhaled deeply, and steeled herself for what was to follow.

"Worry about your own damn light."

All at once, Laura slammed her fist into the 'Enter' key to confirm crisis protocol as Edward pulled out a short knife, leaping at her. She sprung backward in the nick of time to avoid a deep slash to her abdomen. Edward's eyes were wild, like an animal on the hunt, and his smile was a manic, toothy one; it might have been charming, were the knife and the crazed eye-gleam absent. The girl raced past him as he tried jabbing her again, and the pursuit began.

Drum beats sounded in Laura's ears, the pounding of her heart counting down her last moments as she returned to the inner hallways. She chanced a look behind her, whimpering as she ran, the predator right behind her.

"You and I both know you can't run well!" he shouted, coming closer and closer. "Why don't you just accept fate as it's dealt unto you?!"

It was the truth: her legs were already throbbing. But stopping meant dying, and she couldn't die yet.

"I have too much to do," she wheezed as she plodded on. "I'm not going to give in…"

'_Not to him!_'

She darted around a corner and bolted through a pair of metal doors. They swung back and forth on their hinges as she continued forward, hoping they'd slow down Edward. Onward she flew, through another set of doors warning her of the next destination: the drill chamber she'd just come from. It was the only way to keep out of reach of the madman on her heels.

The chase led back to the vast chasm of a room, Laura's path winding around the metal pathway, down a staircase, zig-zagging again across the clanking passages. The floor panels shook and shuddered like scaffolding, narrow and nerve-wracking; she was at the mercy of the floor's construction. If the situation would have allowed, Laura would have held some sort of empathy for window washers on their cheap scaffolds, but her mind was screaming the only thing that mattered: _If I don't escape, I'll die here, like a mouse caught by a cat._

_Alone…_

And then she remembered suddenly, that she wasn't alone after all.

"Oh happy day, please hear me. HERSHEL!" Her voice traveled upward, downward, sideways and every way as she kept yelling out the Professor's name, hoping he'd hear each breath she managed to convert to sound. After a half a minute of screaming and running, her breathing became labored, so much so that she could no longer hear Edward's pounding footsteps. But in her bones she felt him catching up, every one of his heavy footfalls slamming vibrations through the ground.

'_I wish I could have exercised more_,' she thought, kicking herself. '_I hate my legs!_'

Her feet tried to keep up with the pace her mind wanted her to take, but they were failing. She'd resorted to hopping down several stairs at a time to keep her legs from buckling underneath her, and he'd just as soon take the same steps in one jump right behind her. The cold metal rails slipped through her sweat-covered hands as she used the poles as support, propelling herself forward in lunges. It gave her a slight advantage in speed and distance, but it was soon rivaled by bursts in Edward's energy. The blade of his weapon grazed her elbows several times, and each time she managed to be just out of reach of the knife's tip.

"He can't hear you, you stupid little runt!" said Edward. "Might as well throw in the towel! You're alone!"

Running, running, running, Laura wove in and out of doors and hallways, any outlet she came upon, and found herself back in the drill chamber over and over again, each time one floor deeper into the ground as they both made the descent. She couldn't focus on finding a true exit out of the place; Edward was always right behind, and she was too occupied with surviving.

And then there was a break in their game of tag. As they took the run once more inside the drill chamber, Edward decided to use the rickety surroundings to his advantage. He threw his body forward and slammed himself into one of Laura's shoulder blades, causing her to trip sideways as she lost balance. She reached out and held fast onto the railing before falling over the edge, her back arching backward against the icy steel. Her abdominal muscles clenched tight as she attempted to gain her balance, and then she got a glance.

Below her was endless black, the chute leading ultimately to her own engineered creation, now resting. The situation threatened to send her plummeting towards it, as the dark, chilly air rose from the depths to greet her. Half out of instinct, half out of fear, she pressed her entire body weight into the bar to keep herself stable, lest she test gravity. The last thing she wanted was to slip over the edge and start learning (and failing) to fly.

As she corrected her posture, Edward had jumped up and was upon her again. He'd dropped his knife somewhere in the fall, and resorted to his bare hands. He grabbed her by the neck and shoulders and began forcing her backward. Laura could only try to eyeball his tightening grip. If she let go of the bar in an attempt to get him off of her, she'd fall.

"Care to take a dive?" he hissed, his hot breath inches from her face. His cologne was thick, and burned her nostrils and back of her throat. "You'll have such a grand time learning to fly, you little fledgling. Too bad your little toucan isn't here to teach you a thing or two about flapping your wings before you go _splat_!" he roared, his hideous laughter bouncing off all parts of the cylindrical space. Even as her mind blackened, her lungs aching for oxygen, she found his delight exponentially frustrating.

'_GOD IN HEAVEN, I'M SERIOUS: __WHY IS EVERYONE SO AGONIZINGLY ANNOYING?_'

Edward hacked and coughed as Laura's knee sank into his stomach, courtesy of her last moment of consciousness. When he doubled over in pain, Laura took in a few copious gulps of air before making a run for it. She'd clambered down yet another set of stairs and turned to run inside a vestibule with more computers when Edward made a final attempt at murder. Her mind raced when she found herself on her back, Edward flat on his stomach next to her against the floor. He must have tackled her, she reasoned quickly, before seeing the small knife before her eyes yet again.

'_He recovered it?!_'

Heels digging into the floor, Laura pushed herself backward as the knife stabbed downward again and again, this time missing her arm, the next time missing her torso. His breathing erratic and hysterical, Edward made random, unplanned jabs into the floor, trying here, there, anywhere to catch a bit of the squirming girl. Laura felt like she was dancing, only on her back, as she twisted and flung herself in every direction without thought or calculation.

"No, no, stop!" she managed to shout breathily, attempting to throw him away from her. He was too heavy, and more importantly, too determined and crazed, two qualities she didn't know how to remedy.

The man struggled to smile, but he did, and it was frightening as he continued to rip and tear with his blade. He'd managed to crucify her lab coat's arm to the floor twice, and it tore into shreds when she pulled away. Again, she felt herself struggling for freedom, her back to the ground.

Edward laughed maniacally and took in a sharp, heavy breath, as if preparing for a dive. "And this, Laura Haris, gives a whole new meaning to what it means to _terminate_ an employee!"

The amoral piece of metal rose above her face, positioned to force itself between her eyes. Life scenes flashed, people spun in a carousel of visions, everything she knew displayed in an instant slideshow. School, Liam, rugby balls, pianos… Carbite and Luke, Flora and Hershel. All her enemies, all her friends, all her loved ones…

And then it all stopped.

Hadn't she just been looking at the knife, directly above her? She blinked, and in a flash of brown, it was apparent that she'd eluded death once more, as the Professor had finally found the both of them. He was now grappling with Edward a few feet away from her.

"God almighty…" she whispered to herself, much too incredulous to say any more. She rolled onto her side and placed her palms against the floor. The cool touch of the metal and the throbbing of her bruised muscles were the only things helping her realize that the scene playing out before her was very real. Yet she should have been dead. She imagined herself flailing, the last synapsing of her nerves coursing through her body as a knife stood buried in her skull, sending her brain into permanent shut down.

That's how it should have been. And now, her savior rolled and tumbled in a scuffle against her assailant.

The Professor grunted and shouted, tussling with Edward as he now tried to save his own skin. The younger of the two let out a wailing shriek as he endured a punch to the wrist. The bone cracked as it was met with Layton's fist from the front and the solid floor from the back. Immediately, the knife was dropped, and the Professor with one swift motion sent it flying towards the middle of the dark vacuum just beyond them. The blackness swallowed it with silent indifference, and it was gone.

Meanwhile, wheezing and puffing, Edward slinked backward and away towards the computers, nursing his injury.

"You stupid, damnable old man, look what you did to my wrist!" He held it up high for all the world to see, limp and useless. It was a sickly green from the monitors' glow.

"You're lucky that's all you escaped with," Layton snarled dangerously, his voice low and gravelly. It drew Laura's attention away from Edward; it may have been the first time his voice was laced with a genuine desire to harm. "You're going back to the surface. With us. Now."

"Oh, am I? Since when do I take orders from the likes of you?"

"Since you forfeited your rights by being responsible for the murders of innocent people the world over, and for just now attempting to murder your own associate and employee. That's '_since when_'."

"You mean your little 'girlfriend', not my associate."

"Your mind games have become boring." Layton licked his lip where a small cut had opened up in the fist fight. "Where's the Book?"

Edward laughed. "Ah, and there's the question! But, where's the answer? Wouldn't you like to know…"

"_Where is it?__!_"

"You were gone so long, I thought you might have found it!" Edward said with a pout. His lower lip curled stiffly, his eyes shining with plastic sympathy. "Left your little prize all alone too! For some silly mystical book. Shows how important _you_ are, Laura."

The Professor looked as if someone had smacked him in the face. Hard.

"That's—not true—I—Laura…"

Layton turned robotically to look behind him. He shouldn't have let Edward's prodding affect his emotions, but it was too late. Laura stared back, tight lipped and silent. Her eyes were wide, but her expression was otherwise plain. The Professor struggled to find words, perhaps the first time he couldn't conjure up an explanation. A lot of firsts, in a matter of minutes.

With a shriveled, dry giggle, Edward broke the heavy silence.

"You know it's true, Laura. And I can show you the video footage. And my destroyed office, by the way. Did you _really_ need to destroy my office, Professor? All for a silly book. Put Laura in danger and everything."

"She wouldn't _have_ to be in danger if you weren't a psychopath!" the Professor spat caustically. He turned back to Laura, unable to read her expression. "Laura, if I knew he'd have ran out and came after you, you know I wouldn't have—"

"But, you did." It was the first time she'd spoken in a normal tone all afternoon. "You busied yourself with that stupid book. It's the reason all of this is happening, all of this—"

"All of this is happening because of greed and pride and hideously misplaced talents," he reasoned tirelessly. "Laura, you were in that computer room, it was locked and secure, I merely took a few extra moments…"

She shook her head, her eyes now slits. Layton was held fast in her sight. "Get him restrained, and get this over with. I've had enough for one day."

"Laura, don't you see, he's _trying_ to get us on opposite sides! He's—"

"Oh yes, hate each other all you want, I don't really care. My plans are dashed and ruined. And isn't this all just convenient…" Edward shot his figurative knives, the only weapons he now had, at Laura as he glared at her. "Your drill is stopped, just the way you wanted, and you're alive. And you have your precious teacher. Even if he's argumentative. And uncaring."

"_That's not true_." The Professor took a few solid steps towards the young man, making Edward flinch slightly. "Stop your sociopathic babble this instant!"

Suddenly Edward leaped from his slumped position on the floor. "All so good and well when _you_ are the one shouting insults, _Professor_. You're just so lucky, Laura… Too bad. I _always_ have a failsafe." He walked calmly to the computer, watching the Professor and Laura from the corner of his eye. Layton inched forward, but Edward pulled out another blade from his sleeve, stopping Layton in his tracks. "Ah, ah, ah, Professor. Unless you want to be gutted with a slice as wide as the brim on that obnoxious hat… I still can use my arm, although you broke my wrist…" With a few prods of his elbow against the keys, he was all smiles again.

"What did you just…" Layton started, frustrated that he couldn't jump at Edward to keep him from the computer. He was afraid of the point of the knife.

"Up and running, as usual. We have a lot of safety precautions around here, and even more safety backups. You know, just in case an odd couple decided to shut the thing down when it was supposed to be running at full capacity? Now it's all locked, and you'd need a couple of days to undo _this_ little number. Programming was never your strong point, Laura."

'_Who do you think programmed the drill, you nimrod?!_'

The Professor jumped when Laura let out a booming scream of frustration. "Grrrah, you stupid, wretched excuse for an engineer! _Don't you get it?!_ You're going to kill us _all_! Not just everyone, but _you too_! That drill is going to hit the fault line, and flood all of England. Where will you be?! You'll be right here drowning with everyone else! Was _that_ a part of your plan?!"

Edward continued laughing. He might have tired of it, were he a logical person of sound mind. But he was having too much fun with the whole thing. "Well, of course not! I have my ways. I'll be high and dry when you'll be pushing up daisies! And I mean that quite literally!"

Once again, the ground quaked and grumbled, the cue for Edward to make a run for it. His coat tails rounded the corner by the time the Professor jumped to action.

"Not again, you're not!" Layton was after him within a second, leaving Laura alone. She could hear their feet slamming against the metal staircases in the chamber. Alone with the computer cluster, her mind swam. She couldn't believe it. Her hack, her efforts to override the program…all for naught. She was back at square one, fighting for more time at the drawing board.

"I'm out of ideas… I've exhausted everything… I've shut down the other machines, but this one here… I can't do it in time…"

Tears came to her eyes as she thought to just hunch down on the floor and wait to die. Her energy was gone. Her will to continue was gone. Slowly, her senses dulled, and she no longer heard the clinking of the metal floor route beyond the little alcove she was standing in, no longer saw the sickly light coming from the locked computers. She closed her eyes, sucking the back of her teeth, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth.

"I wish I would have never joined the company. I wish I'd never met Leopold, Edward, whoever." Her arm swept across her eyes, brushing tears away. "Never went to college…was never good at anything…I wish I was never good at _anything_!"

'_I wish I never met Hershel either! None of this would be happening! None of it!_'

In an instant, she hated herself.

"No, no, I…I don't mean that…I mean…it would have made things…"

'…_a lot easier but…I…I don't think I would have liked not ever meeting him…_

'_He's…too rare…and too…important to not have ever been a part of my life…'_

Her eyes flicked open, and all she could hear was the grinding whine of the drill, meters and meters below, digging deeper into the earth.

"No. I don't put on that sort of show. Laura Haris does _not_ operate a waterworks, or a theater.

"I find answers, I put things right. And I protect what's important."

She spun, she started, and she threw herself out into the drill's chamber, where she ascended the stairs. Somewhere above her, the Professor and Edward were probably fighting to the death, but it was out of her hands. She had her goal in sight, her last hope of saving everyone that wasn't yet dead.

"Luke, Flora, Hershel. This is for you. Edward's got his little 'failsafe'… Well, so do I!"

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**REVIEW, PEOPLE. REVIEW...**


	42. CHAPTER 42: GRAVITY EQUALS

**Two chapters within a DAY? Aren't you lucky!**

**Things get permanent next chapter. Here's a transitory splat of words.**

**Forced to go to work before the New Year holiday,**

**Kelsey**

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**CHAPTER 42: 9.8 m/s^****2**

She lost sight and sound of the Professor and Edward. There was no more clanking on the walkways, so Laura assumed they were back in the main hallways.

Thoughts upon thoughts flooded her mind—_It's all my fault; I have no chance of stopping anything; I might as well die; should I 'happen' to fall over into this chamber? No one will know…_—and she did her best to dam them up, but guilt was a thick and bitter medicine. It wasn't going down well. About as well as her attempts at saving anyone.

Several times she would have to stop, resist the want to vomit over the side of the railings. She wasn't sure if she should attribute it to the pain in her legs—thorny vines of shock and electric pulsing, malfunctioning nerves—or to the incessant nagging of her conscience. How culpable was she? Her responsibility gauge told her 100% culpable.

And then optimism would be her religion, conversion overwhelming her with a wave of unrivaled determination. She could do _anything!_ This whole plan was in the _bag_; she could have her cake and eat it too, and have some leftover to save. It was in this mode that she managed to ascend to the main level with the corporate offices.

'_He locked the drill's sequence_, _but if I can just delete _everything…_there's nothing even Edward can rely on_,' Laura repeated in her head; going over a list of procedures made executing plans all the more achievable. '_Hacking is out of the question. Would take too long. Have to find his password. I know I saw it in a file in that annex…_'

The hallway was eerily quiet. All of a sudden she felt cold. Once she reached the office, she tip-toed to the door frame, afraid she'd be attacked, but the place was black. Someone had pulled the curtains, and the room was as bright as a windowless basement during a power cut.

"I have to take a risk…"

As if it were the safest place on earth, she shuffled in and went directly to the office annex. The door was wide open now. The overhead light flickered to life after she pushed the light switch, blinding her momentarily. As expected, the files were still strewn everywhere, but she could pick out her target from the rest of the folders with ease. Several seconds of rummaging proved productive as she laid eyes on Edward's master password key.

"_Bingo_," the girl said in a low voice, chancing a particularly sinister laugh. "Now…to the computer…"

She knew Edward was working behind the scenes when he'd locked himself in the room earlier, and sure enough, his laptop was booted up and running the remote program to the drill. It was a matter of seconds before she had access…_complete_ access. As if she were Edward she cleared the program cache and simply clicked twice (once to select, another to confirm) to end the path sequence once more.

'_Hopefully this is the final barrier…_'

In a fit of excitement Laura slammed the computer shut and sent it flying at the wall. Whether the machine was damaged or not was uncertain but a small plume of dust exploded from the wall as the plaster chunked off and fell to the floor. She whooped and rushed out, starting her search for the Professor.

Instead she ran straight into Edward, her first reaction being to push against the white suit. She screamed as she flew backward, scrambling behind the desk in order to separate them.

"How insulting, as if we haven't worked together all these years!" he laughed. His face was calm yet nonplussed.

"You just don't quit, do you…" Laura stood, her teeth barred. She flexed her hands, getting ready for a brawl. It wasn't as if she could do anything against a berserker like him, but she had to be prepared.

"Same can be said for you, of course. Are we really so different?"

Sniggering, her mouth agape turned slowly into a bewildered grin. "Are you bloody serious?"

"Really, we share similar feelings towards our parents, our peers. We both have worked on this project for _years_, and yet we're now at odds… We can both share the same fate as well, if only you would comply with—"

"We do_ NOT_ share the same feelings towards parents and peers, Edward," Laura defiantly corrected, pure malice lacing every syllable. "My parents may not have thought much of me, but—"

"Same can be said of my father. Can you believe it? Denying his own son…" Again, a drama. Cue the curtains; conductor, the music, please.

"It's not my fault, who they chose for the drills, _Edward_," Laura snapped. "If we're so alike, why are you treating me like dirt? Punishing _me_ isn't justified! You tricked me, used my skills for your idiotic plans!"

"Yes, yes, fair enough." He shrugged off the comment, as if washing his hands clean of the whole matter. Then, he began walking towards her slowly, closing the gap between them. She inched her way backwards, around the desk; she tried to get closer to the exit of the dark office. She saw her shadow stretched out before her as she approached the light of the hallway. "At least, for that part of it. It was my plan all along, but…you didn't really challenge it. It still is _your_ drill. And otherwise, engineering and world pursuits aside…you aren't completely clean. The Book has taught me a _lot _about you."

Not knowing what he was getting at, Laura stood silent, miserably facing him down. "I won't be moved by your taunting, and I don't care what you know."

"Oh, really? I know at least that we could have been decent, you and I," he shared with her softly, barely above a whisper. There was now only about two meters between them, as he'd shuffled around as much as she did. "With your mechanical expertise and my drive, we could have made quite a stir in Europe, and then the world. You could have been something. Look what you've already done! Quite a bit for me, thank you. No one could have done better, I'm positive of that. You could have had a share of the wealth. But… It would have been fleeting.

"Truth is, I wouldn't have kept you around anyway."

She never noticed the flick of his coat as he pulled something out from beneath, but she saw his arm fly up from his waist, now carrying something; the fact that Edward's uninjured hand was holding a new weapon took half a second to process. Laura was now staring down the mysterious and dark barrel of a meaty hand gun. Makes and models of weapons were beyond her ken, but the understanding of a gun's ultimate purpose—it's primary goal—was seizing her brain. It made her freeze in place, although she knew deep down that she should have fled.

"I…" was all she managed to peep, her eyes glued to the end of the gun. Her muscles were like cement, stuck and solid, her bones shaking from within her scared cocoon of a body.

"Should have just resorted to this to begin with," Edward stated lazily, as if reporting the morning weather. "Would have saved me the trouble of chasing you about, correcting your little programming hacks. Did you just implement another? Such a _bother_, you are. But you _were_ so much fun to play with, really."

She felt herself go cross-eyed, staring down the gun's dark tunnel. It was the '_when_' part that made her stiffen, her subconscious rattling off the question over and over.

'_When…is that thing going off_? _When? When? When?!_'

"You'd better stop moving, Laura Haris. A few more steps backward, and my aim won't be as accurate. I'll do you a favor, and end you quickly and painlessly. Just hold still…"

She hadn't noticed herself continuing to step back, and was only a few feet from the door now. If she were quick and caught him in a lapse of his attention, she might be able to secure an escape. But the risk, to chance such a thing…

'_But I'm going to die here for sure! Why can't I move?!_'

"Where's your precious little Professor now, Laura?" Edward said sneeringly, fang-like teeth showing. They flashed like deadly pearls. He cocked the gun, and set finger to the trigger. "Just like ten years ago, _isn't_ _it_?"

In one second—no, a _split_ second—fate was bent and shaken as several impromptu decisions were made.

It was the single most important, most quickly made choice Professor Layton had ever made. His hearing ceased, the world melted and crumbled. He traveled as if in a vacuum, where he could just '_do_'with no restrictions on '_how_'_. _His limbs were as a marionette's, orchestrated by some puppeteer from above, tugging the strings; he didn't know how his brain charged into action so smoothly, so perfectly, but it did.

He had charged into the room without warning, somehow picking up on Edward and Laura's location mere seconds before Edward had decided to use the gun; he'd praise his intuition later, but now, Layton somehow contorted himself as he sprung forward through the door frame to the office, and shielded Laura nanoseconds before the gun exploded, producing an unyielding shot. In a graceful arc of his body, he launched himself in front of her and forced the bullet to make him its target. In one action, the result was changed, and for a split second in time Laura was standing stock still with bated breath as a spray of blood spread across her face and chest before she even knew what was happening.

As the Professor completed his trajectory, he wrapped his arms around the girl, forcing her off her feet. With a stroke of luck, the path of the bullet had only drove through his arm instead of a more fatal spot. The bullet burnt through his coat and skin like a brand, ripping cleanly through his right arm as both he and Laura fell to the ground in a heap. Layton inhaled sharply as the pain seared and coursed throughout his muscles, making him wish the nerves would go numb so he didn't have to deal with the discomfort. His teeth barred as he struggled to remove himself off Laura, who whimpered weakly, the Professor's weight crushing her lungs.

"Stupid idiot," Edward Chancey muttered, calling the Professor other insults before spitting contemptuously. "You might have died, doing that. But then that'd be killing two birds with one stone. How's that for a metaphor?" Edward cocked the gun once more, but the Professor was wise to his intentions. He knew the villain wouldn't act without some cocky comment, and had already leaped to his feet as the pain burned and throbbed in his arm muscles, pulling Laura along with him as best as he could with his good arm. They forced themselves through the exit and tumbled out into the hall as several shots went off, hitting the wall opposite the office door. Laura was still being hoisted by the Professor as they took off down the hallway.

"_LAURA, WAKE UP AND RUN!_" Layton shouted in her ear, letting go of her and grabbing her hand. As soon as her feet leveled with the ground, she tried to keep up with the Professor, but her brain was asleep. Her voice came out of her as if in a dream, where she couldn't quite control what to say, but she knew she was speaking.

"I almost…I almost…"

Gun shots flew past them both as Layton shoved Laura through a door, another hall, another door, and down several flights of metal stairs (again) before finally ducking into an old break room, long forgotten. He pushed the heavy metal door shut and slid the bar lock across and clicked the dead bolt. Several more shots went off, lodging bullets into the other side of the door. Laura shrieked, and then there was silence, no gun fire. For the moment, they were safe.

The ceiling lights buzzed noisily. They were dim, hideous fluorescent lines, the cream tubes reflected in the shiny tile. Laura stared at them stupidly, then at her hands. She shuddered as her breathing struggled to return to normal.

"I almost…I almost died…back there…"

"Well, you're safe now," Professor Layton huffed, his breathing shallow and loud as he breathed in and out. He cursed under his breath and clutched at his arm where the bullet had seared through his skin. The wound seeped bright red, sticky blood, and looked like it had been half-cauterized. He wanted to nurse it, but still was experiencing the after-shock of the situation they'd just escaped. "Are you okay?" he whispered, watching Laura move her lips soundlessly.

"I…I can't believe that…that gun…"

"Laura, I know you're in shock, and I'd like for you to take your time getting comfortable, but we don't have that luxury right now. We need to think. He's…" He put an ear to the door, his hat tilting as he pressed his face to the cool metal. "I don't hear him out there, but we can't stay here for very long."

All of a sudden, Laura came to, as if waking from a coma. Everything around her seemed alien. She worked backward in her mind, trying to figure out from where she'd just come, and what she'd done minutes ago.

"I shut it down," she said robotically, in monotone. "I shut it down again, the drill. I destroyed the laptop. He…he'll have to figure out a new password, because I changed it." She rubbed her eyes, and looked up quickly. Layton shuddered when she shot him a frightening expression. "And where in the hell were you, again?!"

"I—! What?!" he sputtered, thrown by her sudden change in demeanor.

"You ran off after him, and you lost him?! I couldn't have been in that office for over five minutes! You lost track of him that quickly?" she growled, glowering at him.

"Laura, it got violent while chasing him in the halls! He was trying to _beat_ me with a bloody _pole_!"

"A _pole_?"

"Who knows where it came from, but yes, a pole. And well…he sort of got a well-aimed kick in and another blow with the pole… Well, it's a bit difficult for a man to collect himself after having _that_ sort of thing done to him _there_…"

The girl roared and clenched her fists, her contempt growing with every word spoken. "I don't care if he shoved that stupid pole up your _ass_, you're so busy fighting and being an idiot, you left me alone!"

"I had to go after him, who _knows_ what he was going to do!"

"Who knows? _I _know! I know now what he's going to do! And I know what _you _are going to do too! You left me alone! And look what happened! AGAIN! I've almost been killed _twice_ today, because you're off looking for books and fights!"

Brows knit tightly together, the Professor stood with his jaw dropped. "WHAT?! I just saved your life! That's what I just did!"

"You wouldn't have to _save_ it if you'd stop running off! And what do you want me to do, worship you for it?!"

"A thank you might be in order, I'm thinking!" He coughed, and then let out a derisive sort of laugh. "But perhaps that's a bit much, considering I only just _took a bullet for you! _Quite literally!"

She stalked off, looking about the room they entered. She was furious, and had nothing more to add to the argument. The Professor still looked at her incredulously. They both knew it, but wouldn't say it aloud: the situation was eating at them, and corroding their ability to keep calm. It was a set of circumstances that wasn't taught in college.

The room was a break room, one of many that branched off the drill chamber. A couple of lengthy tables spanned the space, cheap plastic chairs lining each side. A smattering of crumbs lay on the table surfaces, testament of the messy workers, long gone. The vending machines still glowed from a corner of the room, their contents most likely expired or close to it. Laura walked up to one, shaking her head.

"Thank you." She turned back to her only company, her eyes burning. "But it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't strayed from the task!"

"Task?! The task was to find Edward!" the Professor shouted, frustrated and upset. For the first time, he wanted to smack her. He wanted to smack her across the face as hard as he could, and _maybe_ do it again.

"And keep me safe!" she added. "And _not_ to be searching for some stupid book!"

"And I—I'm…" He sighed, defeated. "I'm sorry, but—"

An intercom box that was wedged up in a corner of the ceiling crackled and came to life. A fuzzy, watery voice hissed from within.

"_Hmm, you should be able to hear this just fine, I'm thinking,_" came the electronic voice of Edward, now calm and collected. After all, he was safe and secure behind a microphone, and they were trapped in a lounge like rats in a sewer._ "Attention all employees, former employees__—including recently__terminated employees that should be _dead—_and control freak professors that might be in the building. You might want to find something stable to hold on to. Your current surroundings are going to change quite a bit__… __Cryptic? You'll soon figure it out. You're a smart bunch to have gotten this far! You'll have no trouble with your next puzzle._

"_Good luck, Professor Layton. And to you too, Laura! Have fun with your little mechanical friend.__ It really 'digs' you. AH HA!__ Good bye._"

With a buzz and a click, the intercom transmission ended, followed by Laura laughing hysterically. The Professor thought she'd lost it, and then saw tears.

"I'm so bored of this," she sobbed, her hands forming little tight fists. "I'm so…so tired and bored."

"Laura, let's just think calmly about this..." He walked closer to her, his eyes apologetic.

"Calmly? I'm stuck in a dingy break room, in the same subterranean complex as a psychotic murderer, who's currently already implementing a new way to destroy everyone, and you want me to '_just think calmly about this_'?! How much more can I possibly do? I've done everything except cut the power, who knows what he's doing now…"

"If we can get back to the land, to the surface, we can inform Inspector Chelmey, who already is directing the proper—"

"You think Chelmey's got this handled and figured out?" she scoffed, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Sure… Sure he does."

"It doesn't do much being here." He grabbed her shoulder, shaking her. "Let's hurry. Get to an elevator, and get out of here."

Laura pulled away from his touch, and stared at him plainly. "Hershel, you stupid blithering idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"You think optimism gets you through everything? You think imagining a bright future actually achieves one? Is that what you think?"

"I… That's not… You're taking my methods out of context—"

"No, I'm not," she muttered. She didn't look away and hadn't even blinked. In truth, her expression—so candid and frank—was as frightening as Edward's, the eye of the hurricane with the bulk of the storm right behind it.

"I… You think I don't feel hopeless right now?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" she deadpanned. "I just don't think you understand how unbelievably frustrating it is to be in my situation. I've been _tricked_. I've been _framed_. I've been manipulated and used, picked at and thrown to the side. I've killed _hundreds and hundreds _of people. I've tried and tried and _tried_ to get somewhere and… Look where it's gotten me.

"And, at the start of it all—the very _catalyst_ of everything—is _you_."

She walked forward towards him, quickly and menacingly. Suddenly she was no longer five feet tall. "You, you, you…you threw everything off. Why couldn't you have just…been a _normal_ teacher, just sat there all tall and pretty in your pretty cap, taught all the little brats, went on with your life, and then you'd have gotten your upgraded top hat from your girlfriend, and I would be God knows where, doing God knows what, and everything would have been normal. Edward would have his recognition, and I could fade into the place where all basic people end up…"

"Unnoticed and forgotten?" he interrupted, finding her tirade as painful as it was unbearable. "Is that honestly how you wanted to end up?"

"Better than this."

"You're just talking like this because you're stressed, Laura," the Professor offered, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Laura. Snap out of it. You know as well as I do that this isn't going to solve anything."

"Are you considering slapping me?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Don't. You can't snap like I am. I won't allow it. As much as I hate you right now… I still can't drag you down with me."

The lights still buzzed. For several seconds, several minutes, that's all the noise that was made.

"Do you have any other options?" Layton asked, smiling. He didn't hope to make her feel any better, but just enough to try until there was no more trying to be done. "I don't think we have much time. If you've done all you can, then perhaps you'll have to cut the entire power supply. Can you at least do that much? I think the most important thing here is to die trying, not to just _die_, Laura."

Sighing, Laura let a few tears fall before groaning.

"I…I literally can't walk anymore, Hershel… Either you have to carry me, or it's to the elevator we go. I'm just…

"Yes, let's go," she agreed, caving and flashing him a grin. "If we don't hurry, you'll be making your tea with salt water, if Edward's got a way to get his plan to work..."

"That's my girl." He patted her on the head, and although she would never tell him, she formed the opinion that if words were money, his were a billion pounds.

* * *

**People, your favoriting of my story flatters me, but reviews flatter me more. Give in to my beautiful ego and REVIEW. I aim to improve, not impress.**


	43. CH 43: THE 1,000 MASKS OF LAURA HARIS

**If it's confusing, it's because people might go whack if they caused the deaths of several hundred (thousands?) of people, unwillingly.**

**Too tired for something clever to write here,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 43: THE ONE-THOUSAND MASKS OF LAURA HARIS**

The little racer boat skipped the waves like a rock thrown by a giant, Luke and Flora tossed around inside.

"So much for seatbelts!" Luke yelled, holding onto his cap tightly. "This thing's as rocky as a roller coaster! You okay, Flora?"

She held her head out the window and threw up forcefully in response.

Luke slowed the vessel down and tried coasting up to the dock, but unintentionally broke several planks off of it before stopping on the sandy shore, grinding loudly into the earth. He whooped to cover up his scream ('_That's a bit girly!_' he thought sheepishly).

"Thank God…" Flora huffed, spilling from the boat and falling into the shallow waves. "Wasn't the most enchanting ride I've ever taken…"

"You got that right," Luke said, dutifully taking the key from the ignition and following the young girl. "Now, we're supposed to find Inspector Chelmey, but to be honest with you….I never even _saw_ him at the station last time we visited!"

"Seriously, Luke!"

"I'm serious! I was so busy arguing with Emmy that I never even laid eyes on him!"

"But," Flora said with confusion, "he was there when you and the Professor came to St. Mystere, you know…"

Luke was silent, his face reddening. "I…"

"How do you expect to become an intelligent, intuitive gentleman like the Professor when you don't pay attention to the details?" Flora asked honestly, shaking her head. "I'm ashamed of you, Luke."

"Yeah, yeah, only a girl would say such a sappy thing, but I'll make it right, just you wait, Flora!"

He ran out of the water and into grass. The place looked desolate, rampaged by the tsunami from earlier, but a group of bystanders had collected not far from the shore.

"Let's start there… It's the only group of people I can see! If we can tell them the trouble we're in, maybe they can find the Inspector for us!"

Flora clapped her hands and nodded. "It's all we've got…"

Yelling, the children approached the group, waving their hands frantically. A short man with a bushy mustache spotted them from afar and waved.

"Oh, aren't you the Professor's young charges?" he said. He spoke with a voice much milder than he would have appeared to possess.

"Indeed, and there's a problem," Flora began. "Mr. Barton, wasn't it?"

"Smart girl, indeed that's me!" he chirped. "The Inspector is off assisting another, but give me the situation and I'll handle it!"

Luke caught his breath and shook his head solemnly. "You don't understand, Mr. Barton. This is worse than anyone ever imagined! It's…a huge situation we're in, and stopping it is going to be next to impossible to solve!"

The man's mustache twitched, and he knit his brows. "Speaking of impossible, where's the Professor?"

"He's…well…"

"He's fighting with the man that did all of this—Edward Chancey the Third—and he's currently got him out in that tower!" Flora spoke up, pointing out at sea. "He had a giant drill built and it's currently on its way to forcing the fault line to cause an even greater earthquake, causing waves that could plunge coastal cities underwater for who knows how long!"

Everyone around was staring by now, listening to the shuddering girl as she delivered the painful message. Luke beamed with pride as if he'd trained Flora all on his own.

Barton coughed, and merely blinked.

"Given that story, I might wait for the Inspector, now that I think about it…"

* * *

Hearts racing, the Professor and Laura decided to leave the break room and put their last effort towards capturing Edward. Laura stood behind Professor Layton as he pulled the bar lock back, unbolting the door. He creaked it open slowly, allowing the top of his hat to clear the door frame first, in case Edward were around shooting at the first thing he saw. When his hat didn't go flying, Layton extended the rest of his head, looked around, then gave Laura the 'all clear' signal.

They flew down the gray hall, cool air flushing past their ears. The girl sucked in a sharp breath a few times, trying her best to tolerate the pain in her legs.

"Let's navigate the drill chamber pathways," the Professor turned and said. "It'll be easier to see Edward if he's following us, or waiting for us ahead on our path." Laura merely nodded.

Her mind was numb. What was she supposed to do, challenge him? Something in her wanted to pretend they weren't running for their lives, pressed for time. Time…_time_…did she have much left?

The guilt tore into her mind again. The hallway became a tunnel; she was coursing through a maze to her execution, her own personal guillotine. Morphing and twisting, the Professor became an attendant, leading her down the gauntlet. Beside her were judgments and accusations, a jury of witnesses, judges of her actions. They numbered in the tens, the hundreds… Her ears filled with whispers, sounds—bitter and acidic, the angry and acrid breathing choking her conscience with blame.

Then, as soon as it started, she'd returned to the hallway. It was the same dull concrete with the same buzzing ceiling lights. She was rushing to do something. Stop someone.

'_My brain…_'

As soon as they returned to the chamber, a strange scent burned their nostrils. The Professor sniffed the air, and Laura followed suit.

"Is that…"

"Smoke?" he finished, and no sooner did the word pass through his lips that a faint flash of light sparked from deep down in the abyss. When the two of them looked over the railing of the path to see where the flash came from, a quickly traveling vibration rattled the entire room from the ground up. It grew louder, shaking the metal channels that circled the perimeter. Laura wobbled on her heels and gripped the railing for balance.

"What is that?!"

"I really don't…know…! W-We n-need to g-get off of this th-thing!" he tried to yell, the vibrations shaking his voice as he spoke. He started along the path at a quick pace when all of a sudden a steel bolt snapped, sending a portion of the route bending outward towards the hole in the center. There was one moment where his feet didn't touch the ground and another when he collided with the rail.

Laura's vision was blurred and she felt dizzy, barely noticing the Professor tip ever so slowly…in a dreamlike, syrupy motion…over the cold bar.

"H-Hersh…_Hershel!_" Her body worked before her brain did, which was lucky; arms outstretched, Laura grabbed one of the Professor's arms just before he fell beyond reach. His falling weight pulled her entire body against the shaky rails, forcing her jaw to smash into one bar and her hip against the other. The jolt caused him to slip and then only one of her hands was at his wrist.

He shouted out in surprise as his hat toppled off his head in the flurry, and instinctively (yet riskily) he reached out to catch it by the brim. For a bit he swung like a crooked pendulum on an even more crooked trajectory.

'_Oh dear God…_' Layton thought, accidentally looking down. '_I shouldn't have done that…_' He felt vertigo distorting his vision with a swarm of fluctuating colors and pulsating perspective. The chamber shrank and bloated as he tried to focus his perception.

The shuddering of the chamber waned, but Laura's stiff fingers were beginning to quake as they gripped Layton's arm tightly. With her jaw and cheek smashed against the cold metal, it was difficult to speak.

"I…I can't feel…my arm…or my face… Hershel, drop the hat and grab with your other arm!"

"N…No, I can't…the hat…"

"_You…must…_ I can't hold _on_! It's a stupid…hat, now let _go!_" she struggled through grinding teeth. "Hershel, my arm is going to _rip out of its socket!_"

He pulled the hat up to his mouth and bit firmly on the brim, using his free hand to reach for her other arm. It was a toiling bit of work, but with two limbs balancing the weight, Laura had a moment of relaxation.

"Just hold on, Hershel, I'll try to…pull you up…"

He grunted and shook his head furiously, the hat flopping as his neck turned left and right.

"Ehnn uhn!"

"I can't understand you, stop grunting and growling! If you just hold on I'll—what…what are you doing?!"

He began swinging like a pendulum again, this time perpendicular to the metal ramp, out towards the void, back towards the wall and the scaffolding. Thrusting his hips, his weight forcing him to oscillate back and forth, his goal became terrifyingly clear.

"_NO!_" Laura screamed, the echo bouncing about. "That's suicide! You can't mean to jump down to the next level!"

Of course, with hat in mouth, the Professor said nothing, but simply looked up and confirmed her fears. He swung harder.

"No, please, Hershel, don't…I can't…hold much longer…" she sobbed, tears building, pooling, tumbling down her cheeks. She felt a burning sadness in her, as if the vision in her imagination already happened: the brown coat shoulders, the top of the brown head, falling, fading…black abyss. Gone. Final and permanent.

"You asshole." She'd changed. The vision changed. Only rage and hatred flamed before her eyes.

'_How could he do something so risky?! Intending to leave me here, after trying a stunt like that? All alone? Does he think I'd follow him and make it easy?_ _You stupid, insipid, uncaring asshole!_'

"How can you choose this…this _option!_" came her tattered voice, raw and strained. "It's not even an option…no, no, no…"

Another roll of synthetic thunder, and the place was shaking again. The girl was beside herself, juggling sadness and fury, but she heard the loud, pleading grunt of the one she was holding in midair, his only support…

She stared up into nothing, accepting the plan. "You want me to let go."

He started counting, swinging out towards the empty hole.

"Oowuhn…"

"This is complete madness…"

"Tchoo…"

"_I can't believe this!_" Laura screamed, her throat tearing as her voice fought the grinding roar from below. "_You're so going to die!_"

"Shree!"

"_AHHHHHHHHRGH!_"

Release. She felt his weight release, her muscles snap back with excruciating pain, and her tail bone slam into the steel as she flew backwards, half on her own accord. With her mouth open wide she began sobbing, staring at dreamlike hallucinations of something…somewhere… Regaining composure was becoming more and more difficult.

"Oh God, there's no way…there's no way…no bloody way…"

"_Laura! Look! Down here!_"

Hurriedly Laura obeyed—a last hope—leaning cautiously over the railing, enough to see the platform a story below her. Top hat and all, there he stood, beaming.

So he'd made it. As she should have known.

"_I'll…I'll kill you later_…" she seethed, her voice fuming with restrained rage. In a twirl she flipped upright and smiled as she clambered to the staircase. He was already there to meet her.

"Here I stand, undead," he quipped, winking. "Still going to kill me, after I just evaded death?"

Groaning, Laura pushed him towards the double doors that led to the elevator. "Go, go , no time for that, no _time_! I _so _want to smack you for that…" She heard him chuckle, and wished them away somewhere sunny, somewhere _not _in the middle of the sea, fighting things she didn't know how to handle.

"I think I know what Edward's doing…" she began to surmise. The elevator bell dinged, barely audible in the din. Laura rushed inside the compartment, but the Professor paused, still standing in the hall. "Get in, what are you waiting for?!"

"I don't know if that's wise, Laura. What if—"

"No '_if's_', '_and's_', or '_but's_' about it, Hershel! We have to hurry! We need to at least get up to the main level! Discussion later!" She motioned for him to enter.

He shuffled his feet, started as if to join her, then stopped short of the door.

"I don't—"

Without second thought Laura grabbed his arm and pulled him in with all her might. She pulled the lattice door closed and pressed the 'up' button.

"Edward got desperate, and I imagine he's letting off dynamite to cause a force similar to that delivered by the machine's drilling," Laura began explaining, not even looking at the Professor. He was still flustered she'd pulled him in, and was hardly paying attention. "Depending on how _deep_ he installed those…how many tricks does he honestly intend to—"

"_Laura_, we shouldn't be in here!" Layton suddenly bellowed. "We should have taken the stairs!"

"What are you—"

"It's not dynamite he's settling with! He's intending to—"

The lights went out, the elevator stalled, and the sound of dying voltage drained through the chamber with a long, dissonant _bwom_.

"The power's been cut," Laura whispered, shuddering in the dark. It was complete, absolute. She felt suffocated. "The power… The power!

"_The power's been_—"

The words didn't process as swiftly as the lift dropped into free fall. Laura felt her stomach lurch, the Professor falling into her as he toppled. He caught himself but his hat fell to the floor.

Then the thing braked, causing both riders to crumple and slam to the grated floor. Crying out, Laura felt her knees lock and buckle before she fell on something soft, most likely the Professor. Her knees met the metal grid and she felt a brazen, burning sting branch out from knee caps to thighs. Suddenly her skin felt wet.

For a brief moment the lights flashed on. Quietly, the Professor inhaled sharply, his tongue aching as he removed it from between his teeth. He tasted the iron instantly, swishing the blood throughout his mouth before being forced to swallow. His hands ached where he'd caught his fall, and when he turned them over he saw that his palms were cut and seeping.

Again, the lights went off and instantly they dropped. Again, a brake. The thing alternated between scraping the shaft and stopping, the lights flashing on and off, until finally the free fall continued for quite some time, the feeble elevator left to the mercy of gravity in the darkness.

"It's not going to stop!" the Professor yelled to the darkness, resisting the urge to vomit. "This is what I was afraid of!"

"I…"

"Is there no stopping it?!"

"There's…nothing," she confided to him, her voice shaky and nervous. "We merely wait, and we're going to—"

Racing out of control the lift shredded against the shaft, slowing it down considerably, but not enough before the whole thing smashed into the ground. The metal frame twisted, the lattice door's pins popped and burst, shooting off with the force of a gun bullet. Laura felt herself pressed into the floor alongside the Professor, whose arm was twisted awkwardly beneath her.

Lights swam in front of the girl's eyes. But it was supposed to be dark…wasn't it?

'_Is this death? Does it come to…get you like a specter in the dark? Sneaky and…permanent… Flashing…lights…_'

"Flashing lights."

With her face on the floor Laura looked out into a hallway, everything turned on its side. A light—bright and red like a beacon—was flashing incessantly as an alarm sounded.

"How long."

She wondered how long she'd lain there, staring. Her whole body felt numb. She wasn't sure if her body could even move. There were parts that felt cold, others that felt soaked, and others still that were warm and searing with a localized pain. Still, most parts she couldn't even _sense_.

'_My limbs… Am I missing any?_'

Other than the siren, nothing made a sound.

"I'm dead. I can't believe I'm dead."

"You're not dead," came another voice.

The Professor had shifted, a slow first attempt at moving his body. It was then Laura realized she wasn't lying on the floor at all, but instead against her mentor.

"Saved you a few more…bruises and cuts, I suppose," he wheezed, still able to smile.

She returned the grin, blood smeared across her teeth. "I'm already oozing everywhere, it feels like…"

Battered and beat up, Professor Layton helped pull Laura up and out of the rubble. Smears of blood and dirt were striped across their faces like war paint, their clothing torn and smudged like the slashed canvas of a painting. Laura had trouble walking; each time she tried bending her legs, the cuts and gashes would spill ruby red liquid, the physical sign she'd been seriously injured. Underneath the skin, she wasn't sure how badly her bones were fractured.

"It hurts…beyond belief," she whined, uncharacteristic of her. Layton merely glanced at her, hardly wincing at her wounds, instead shifting his gaze down the hall.

"I don't know where we are, but it's so far from our goal, I have no idea where to go from here…" He turned back to the shattered elevator and under a metal beam managed to find his hat, punched in and flattened. Surprisingly it hadn't torn, and he placed it gingerly back on his blood-matted head.

"I'm not so sure I care anymore," Laura muttered forlornly, tossing her arms up feebly and letting them fall at her sides. "It's obvious by the elevator just now the system was trying to override his attempts at killing the electricity, but…he got past it."

"We still have to try!" he snarled, fighting the pain in his legs, his shot up arm…_everything _seemed to ache and bleed and burn with pain.

Laura could only stare at him, bored, uninterested, and annoyed; she wanted nothing more than to just lie against the wall and fall asleep. "The alarm?" leaked her angry voice, monotone. Irritation percolated from her dry lips as she chuckled, preparing for a diatribe but thinking better of it. "Do you hear it? That's called a _warning_, Hershel. It's telling you that the whole place is losing pressure, losing safe oxygen levels, and that the place is going to crumble under pressure. The pumps are _off_. Only basic lighting is going to be functioning. So we can see this shitty place before we suffocate. Or get smashed when the place falls apart.

"How would you rather go?"

"This is ludicrous," the Professor hissed, starting to walk down the hall. "Do you expect me to sit here and listen to your defeatist sarcasm? So you just give in, and that's that?"

"I don't feel like entertaining that question, so if you'll just let me be, I can nurse my wounds," she replied, following with a few steps. "What do you think you're doing? Going to save the day? You don't know anything about…well, anything."

"I know that I'm not going to just _give up_!" For a moment, his voice surpassed anything else and he turned to glare at her. "I'm absolutely _ashamed_ of your behavior, and I can't believe you're just going to let this all go, and—"

"Shut the hell up."

She slapped him across the face: bluntly, brusquely, with deliberate intent. It took a second for the Professor to realize what had happened, and another second to accept it. He touched his cheek with his fingertips, slowly turning to look at her. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes had. They burned with a mild madness that desperately wanted something. To harm? To cause emotional pain? Physical?

"Wha… What did you do that for?"

"Because I want you to shut your hole," she whispered, lowering her hand slowly. Her glassy orbs twitched as she held his gaze captive, driving him through with a small jolt of warning: _keep your mouth shut_. "I don't want you to make anymore comments about what I choose to do or not do. As far as you're concerned, you are here to assist me, are you not?"

His eyes slits, he glowered at her. "What?"

"You can help as needed, and I'll let you know how. Here's the best way: _keep your stupid comments to yourself and let me get settled so I can bloody think_."

Confused and embarrassed (although he didn't know why), Layton decided not to offer a snarky rebuttal, instead fuming in silence. After a few moments the girl assessed her physical state and looked around, analyzing their surroundings.

The hall had a low ceiling and was minimalist in design. Other than safety symbols and signs guiding whoever would navigate the place, the walls were dismal and gray. A few lights hung on the walls, dim and fading; they buzzed and flickered, only supplied with enough energy to function for a small period of time.

As the warning siren continued to sound, the long, melancholy wail carried around the walls, crying like an injured soul. It floated around the concrete walls and echoed as far as the length of the hall, whatever that measurement was.

Guided by the sad sound, Laura started walking, not even looking back to make sure the Professor was following. She approached a heavy, metal gate.

"This is the very lowest we can go," she said aloud. "As far as we built the navigable area. We didn't expect the drill to go much farther, and we could physically repair the machine at this part with greater ease than if we just sent it down without a second thought…

"But it's already drilled past this point by several thousand kilometers, so it doesn't matter anymore."

"Where are we going?" Layton asked with conspicuous skepticism. "You said there's nothing more we can do—"

"You know, that's a funny thing you just said." She started giggling, low and harsh; she wasn't entertained at all, merely mocking and cynical. "_Where are we going…_I asked myself that same question over and over, several times during my entire time knowing you, and you answered the same way: nothing more we can do, nowhere to go." She paused, looking at him carefully. "You know, after screwing me over? Remember that? There were several occasions."

_Incredible. Absolutely incredible._

"Are you _daft?_" he snapped.

"No."

"Are you seriously losing it, Laurie?!"

"No."

"Then why are you drifting in and out of moods, and you aren't even developing a _plan_?!"

It was in that moment that Laura Haris felt something rise inside of her. It tasted foul. It _felt_ foul. It knew she most likely wouldn't last for the next few hours, and she'd be gone without anyone to care. So it needed to be released. It had to be known, recognized. It'd eaten her for years, driving her mad some days, fueling her energy on others. The Professor tended its fire, and tried calming it when it got out of hand, but it still burned, embers in the dark, glowing and simmering to warm ashes.

But it never died. It now only needed a pedestal and an outlet. A prod and a poke.

Conflagration.

There within rested a hatred nurtured, and it wasn't going to be vanquished without being made known.

"There's something you need to know before we die, and I'm going to explain it quickly and in plain terms.

"I want you to feel alone and lonely," Laura Haris mumbled weakly. Her voice grew as she repeated it. "Alone and lonely, because you must not understand what that's like."

He merely stared. "Why would you—"

"If I have to be blamed for all of this, I want you to suffer too. This time, I'll _make _you be there at my side. I won't die alone again.

She grabbed her hair by its roots, tugging with increasing force. "_I won't._"

* * *

**END. Review please. The next chapter is one of my favorites. :)**


	44. CHAPTER 44: MAP TO FORGIVENESS

**Here's a bundle of joy. IT'S A GIRL!**

**There's a bit of cursing in this one. Consider the circumstances, please. Don't go all "SO-AND-SO IS OOC" on me...**

**Anyway, happy reading.  
****Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 44: MAP TO FORGIVENESS**

The Professor kept quiet as Laura walked around the dark passageway, stopping during occasional earthly rumbles. They were becoming more and more frequent, and even so, the young woman appeared aimless, and perhaps a bit unstable. She'd murmur things inaudible, then would curse under her breath.

"Screw it all, damn it all," she started again, scratching her head while kicking the wall lightly. "This is ludicrous…"

Risking another outburst, Professor Layton spoke up. "Aren't there any emergency exit routes?"

Laura looked up quickly at him, staring with wide eyes. "Emergency is an understatement." Then she began walking. Layton followed, albeit with a great amount of confusion.

"That doesn't answer my question!" he called from behind. Fumbling over his words, Layton angrily grabbed towards Laura's shoulder to spin her around but then…the hall became silent. A few lights flickered and turned on fully, bathing the gray passage in a yellow glow.

Laura looked around incredulously, a seedling of hope sprouting in her dark mind. "The sirens stopped. The generators are back on. So basically, Edward restarted everything, but now we're trapped down here."

"Isn't there another elevator?"

She turned to face him. "Yes, but we're just going to continue to play tug of war with the power once he sees us coming up again. He's got surveillance, he's got the program in his claws…he'll know. That's why he stopped the power when we were in the lift, I'm _sure_ of it. To keep us caged down here. Now he's just completing the drill's path."

They approached two large steel doors that met in the middle like a zipper. The frame around it was marked in yellow-black alternating diagonals.

"This is the only way that connects to the drill chamber, the very bottom of where we can safely trek. You know, where I showed you and the kids not that long ago. Seems like yesterday," Laura whispered wistfully, recalling the memory. She punched a code on the keypad next to the door and smiled faintly when the doors opened. "Hooray."

The room inside was dim. It looked as if the top portion of the cavern had been formed due to a giant taking an ice cream scoop to the cement. Enormous black spidery cracks sprawled across the ceiling. Several pieces the size of boulders had already fallen to the ground, laying in heaps of powdered rubble

"The pressure already started making this place crumble," Professor Layton noted, holding his hat while looking upward. "We'd better hurry doing whatever it is we're doing…"

"We're going to have to—"

Suddenly they were thrown down as a jolt shook the entire floor. Laura felt her legs buckle as she continued trying to get back to her feet. The Professor wasn't faring any better.

"_I hate this_!" the girl screamed above the rumbling.

"Something's talking!" Layton bellowed right next to her. Sure enough, a computerized woman issued a warning, her digital voice blaring throughout the chamber, but it was too loud and jumbled to make out.

"_Pressure threshold exceeded—make way to—attention all personnel, please—way to exit route—_"

The Professor gave up trying to move, instead remaining magnetized to the cement floor. "Where's the exit?!"

More pieces of the ceiling began falling around them. It was by some strange miracle the two weren't pulverized, but one came too close for comfort as Laura tried army-crawling towards the door.

"We need to get out of here…"

The rumbling subsided slowly, the ground becoming stable with only minor vibrations. The girl seized the opportunity and bolted to a wide-mouthed door on the other side of the space. She mooshed the buttons of the keypad.

"Oh God, oh _God_," she whined. "It's not… Why isn't it working?!"

"Laura, calm down, let's get through the chamber like you originally intended—"

"I didn't intend anything! This isn't supposed to be happening, we'll just be smashed—"

"What's the code?!" he growled, shaking her to attention. She gave it to him and he continuously tried smashing the buttons, hoping and praying he'd nail it. It still wouldn't respond, no matter how many times he tried. "Everything seems to be shutting down!"

Laura raced to an electric box a few feet away, wrenching the door open and revealing a panel and mess of wires.

'_This stupid thing_,' Laura fumed as she tried rearranging the cables. '_It's shutting down all right! The bloody computer wants us out, but the door is jammed! Of all times…Everything's falling apart!_'

"Go find a crowbar or something!" she shouted. "We need to pry the door open!" With a deafening _crtch!_ a large portion of the ceiling split and released a plume of dust, raining down like powdery snow.

"I can't leave you alone with the ceiling like this! What if it—"

"I can manage myself, now stop being sappy and find a bar!"

Continuing to shove numbers into the keypad, the Professor didn't budge. "It's not _sappy_, it's called being _loyal_!"

"What would you know about loyalty?!" she screamed through the din. "You righteous little prat, swearing yourself to me, then taking off without so much as an apology! That's loyalty? You've got some nerve! Fine, stand there being stupid!"

Fueled by rage (something he had been doing for the entire day), he ran and found a bent piece of a beam that had fallen. It was sharp, but was all he could quickly locate.

"I've got this! Help me open the door!" he demanded, pulling her over.

"I'm doing this… I'm almost—"

More cement peppered the cavern. "Laura, listen to me, if you don't do as I say, we're both dead!"

"Go to hell!"

An echoing blast came from above, but nothing more fell. The room was finally quiet. Layton looked up carefully, waiting for some part to collapse in surprise. When nothing happened, he gave a sigh of relief.

"Laura."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close, wrapping as much of his arms around her as he could. She stared into his shoulder, stunned.

"What are you doing?! This place is going to cave in any moment, and you're—"

"Before I come close to losing you again… Laura, I've…never been as scared in my entire life as I was a few minutes ago. If I hadn't intervened, that gun…that bullet, you'd be—wait, what are you doing?"

The girl tore from his grip and ran back to the security box, tearing open more of the half-destroyed paneling. "I don't want to hear your stupid lies. I'm done with you now. You helped me, I'm eternally grateful, and I'll see to it you are suitably recompensed for your efforts. You know me, I will make sure it happens. I don't _lie_. We'll be out of here soon."

The Professor clenched his fists, grinding his teeth. "Laurie, please…we really need to work together here—"

"_Oh_? You didn't think so all those years ago!" she laughed, twisting the colorful cords together. "You didn't even think so just mere moments ago! Looking for some stupid artifact, please! There's more important things going on here, things bigger than both you and I! Don't start thinking about working together _now_. You're _ten years too late_," she snapped, her hands hurriedly running over the mini streams of green, blue, and red wiring. Her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to bat away a deluge of tears. "Almost there…"

"Can you please look past your anger a moment?! I need to tell you something, just listen."

"Not interested. I don't care to listen to you now."

"No, you _need_ to listen!" he wailed, beginning to sob. "Laura, it's absolutely imperative that you listen to me! Before anything else happens." He stood steadfastly in front of the electronics panel, shifting his body left and right as Laura tried going around him to reach the wire sets.

"I don't care! I don't want to die, so let me do this! Just because the noise stopped doesn't mean—" Catching her off guard, the Professor grabbed one of her wrists, holding her still for a moment. The girl attempted to fight it off, but found it futile. "Good Lord, can you please be quick about it?!"

Layton made sure he had her gaze and attention. "I'm sorry! You don't think I'm sorry? I know what I did to you so many years ago was wrong! It was all wrong! The duration of time between then and now: it doesn't make what I did any less disgusting, any less wicked. I was scared, Laurie, _scared_. It doesn't justify it, but I woke up the morning after we slept together, and I couldn't believe what I'd done. I didn't want you hurt! I'd already gone too far. I didn't want anyone to find out, and…ruin your reputation. There was so much at stake!"

She snorted. "Ruin _my_ reputation? You saved _your career_. You don't need to dress it up anymore than you already have, making yourself look like the hero, putting me out of harm's way."

"I don't care what it _looks_ like, that's what I actually did! Laura, don't you get it? I loved you. I was thoroughly, completely, one-hundred per_cent_ in love with you. I didn't want what we did to last only a night. I wanted to spend every waking moment with you!" His face was miserable, his cheeks and forehead red from contorting his face, trying not to cry. "I was impulsive! I made love to you, and got frightened. But that doesn't imply that it didn't mean anything! As soon as you told me about those girls talking, spreading the news that they saw you go home late from my house, I had the last bit of confirmation I needed. I couldn't keep it going like that! I couldn't be selfish like that."

"'_Selfish_' is leaving me in the way you did: I don't care what you say. Shut up and let me work before we get killed."

"Laura, I did it because I _loved_ you! I _still_ love you! Nobody, no one can replace you! I'm sorry, you're right, I admit it! If you want, I'll admit it! I fell in love with Claire because I missed you. I couldn't bear to be alone anymore, she filled the void. You called it 'rebound'? It's…disgusting to think about, now that she's gone…I can't apologize…" He covered his mouth and cried harder, unsure where his emotional wounds stung the worst. They all bled the same. "Oh God, Laura, please…please believe me…please forgive me! If this is the end, you have to know. I've…I've done the exact opposite of everything I've stood for… I abandoned you, I used another, I've lived a lie, hiding behind a façade, all this time. The truth…I thought I could outrun, outlive it. But…then you come back into my life. It's not by chance… I should have said all of this years ago, but I didn't know how. I don't think I could have…I didn't want to let you go. I couldn't have you, so I buried you. I pretended you were never there…"

Wires back in hand, Laura paused, turning to face him slowly. "So you cut me out, as if I never existed?" In milliseconds she thought of her parents and Liam, never mentioning him ever again, putting all pictures of the boy away, boxing up his things and donating them. All memories, all abandoned, all forgotten. She shuddered, a slight understanding of the Professor's emotional plight making her hate herself for accusing him.

'_I suppose…it is the easier route, trying to forget…_ _It's painful on the other person's end, on _my_ end, and if Liam could know any better, I'm sure he'd be hurt, after what my parents have done to seal away the pain, along with him. But….for the sufferer, it might be the only option to move on…_'

Layton wiped his eyes with his sleeve, his injured arm remaining limp. "Yes. I'm sorry. I'm dreadfully sorry. It's unforgivable, I know, but I didn't know what else to do. A part of me didn't want you to forget me, but…I reasoned that if I was doing it to you, it's perfectly plausible you'd do the same of me."

"Yes…I…" More dust and debris fell from the shattered ceiling as the frame threatened to collapse at any moment. It was patchy and dangerously dilapidated, full of jagged holes where plaster and concrete had already fallen. They were contained in a poorly constructed globe, looking up from the center of the earth at the creaking beams that were inaccurate latitudes and meridians. "Chat will have to come later. As for now…" She fumbled with a few more wires and jumped back when blue stars of electricity sparked out at her. With a half-hearted _whoop_, Laura punched the air. "Got it. Gate's open, let's go." She grabbed Layton's good arm. "I said let's _go_!"

Not daring to look back, they ran out of the whining gate, the metal door grinding against the dented and damaged track like a giant, robotic jaw, albeit a rusty one. No sooner had they run through and made it to the hallway that the heavy door slammed, shut for good. A large chunk of ceiling must have finally given way on the other side, as echoes and blasts of dust pushed through small vents in the walls, the floor creaking and vibrating with seismic force.

Finally, after holding their breath, waiting for the crashing to stop, the two sighed, relieved.

"Well, that was some stuff worthy of an action film," Laura mumbled, brushing herself off. She'd managed to become a dust magnet, and turned to the Professor, noting the same of him. His coat looked like it was covered in snow, while her lab coat was no longer pristine and bleached. It now resembled the color of rotting teeth.

"I never wanted to be an actor, and most certainly not one of the action genre," Layton said dryly, licking his lips. He could taste salt, the sweat from the entire affair collecting on his face. Dirt and sand must have been mixed in, as he could feel the crunch of granules between his teeth. It sent shivers up and down his spine. They accepted their ruined state, abandoning the cleaning of their clothes and their general discomfort and turning instead to their surroundings.

They were now in a completely different hallway circuit, a system of paths that led to the drill chamber. It connected to a series of elevators, mostly now defunct, and empty shafts originally used to house scaffolding. These shafts surrounded drill, as they were necessary in the elementary stages of the construction of the subterranean headquarters. This occurred over several years, in monthly stages. What was once a center of mechanical prowess, bustling and sparking with energy, engineering ingenuity hitting and surpassing peaks and pinnacles, was now eerily quiet. Unused and unwanted.

It was dark down both ways of the channel; the only light flowed along a low-wattage strip halfway up the domed walls, and even that was flickering, on its last breath. The hall was shaped like a large pipe, cut in half and looming above them as a convex, rounded ceiling. To the right was pure black, but to the left at the far end of the hallway was a low glow of light. Laura knew there was an old service elevator at the end of the path.

"I don't know if this thing is even in decent working order," Laura said with irritation. Her legs had pins and pegs stabbing through the nerves, barely allowing her knees to bend, and she winced with every step. Running from the destroyed chamber was the icing on the cake, as her limbs had passed their limit hours ago. "But then again, if we don't try, I don't see us getting out of here… It's not like there's a staircase to take in case of emergencies," she said with a laugh. "And even if there was, you'd be walking for over half a day to get to the surface. This is our last hope."

"Okay," he said softly. He still couldn't shake the feeling of loss that was taking over his mind. No one had died yet, but a foreboding fog started to cloud his thinking. He was starting to understand why Laura was starting to lose her focus.

Beginning to walk down the dimly lit hallway, Laura ushered him to follow. "Come this way, I think I remember an emergency worker's lift down near the control room. Perhaps that's still working. After all, it's for emergencies, and this is one. It runs off the power grid, in case that fails. So Edward can't do anything about it!"

Navigating the halls was like navigating a sewer, minus the smells and the streams (and perhaps rats; Laura had never seen a rat down this far into the planet, but she thought she'd heard scurries and scraping of little claws on occasion). The sealed walls glistened from the mellow light as it followed them as they walked, the little glowing line never shining further than they walked.

Their movement triggered the pulsating string. The sensor-lighting was implemented to save energy, as the tubular walking circuit was extensive, equating with _expensive_. It was practical, as the drill needed all the energy that they could spare. And, a certain obsessive-compulsive engineer was bothered by the electric bill.

They ambled slowly in awkward silence, footfalls echoing like sighing ghosts for some time before Professor Layton hissed, sucking in air thickly as he grasped his right bicep.

"Thing's killing me. That bullet really left quite a…well, a _path_." He clutched at his torn sleeve where dried blood had glued pieces together.

"Oh yes, about that. If you'll let me, I'll clean it up for you. You're just lucky it didn't get lodged in there."

Shaking his head furiously, almost losing his hat, Layton stepped back. "I think I can just endure, it seems to have somehow…cauterized itself, I—"

"Are you seriously not going to trust me?" She looked at him plainly, as if bored. Always bored. She hardly ever looked angry with people; she merely looked _tired _of them. "When have I steered you wrong? When have I been misleading? I got us this far, didn't I?"

Looking from his arm to the girl, glaring behind listless eyes, he sighed. "Alright. But…what do you plan on doing?"

They found a stack of empty crates and overturned one, a makeshift chair. Laura sat the Professor down, forcing him to remove his coat and shirt, even after several objections.

"If I have things in the way, it's not going to work," she tried to reason with him. "If you go to get surgery, do you go in suited up like you're going to a dinner party?! No, you get a gown."

"But I…"

Laura rolled her eyes and pulled a small tote from her lab coat pocket. "I thought men weren't supposed to care about baring their chests. Anyway, I found a bunch of fun things back in Edward's office. A sewing kit, a lighter, a set of keys… The kit's most likely to sew on bratty buttons when they fall off before a meeting or something. The rest of the stuff, who knows. I just wanted it."

"You are…something else…" Layton scoffed, giving her a queer glance.

She removed a needle and carefully prepped it with the lighter. Holding the point in the flame, Layton eyed her warily.

"And it's not that I care about '_baring my chest_'… It's just…well…I've gained a little weight since 10 years ago. It's not very flattering, but I suppose I have no one to blame other than myself. I really should be—" He yelled out as she jabbed the needle into his arm, near the bullet's entry. The noise boomed around the walls, the Professor's voice trailing down the hall for several seconds before rebounding back again as a dying echo. "_A warning would be nice! _I really hope being a doctor is _not_ in your future!"

"Just shut your annoying mouth and let me be for a moment! Hold on, let me grab something…"

Luckily, first-aid boxes were required at intervals throughout the entire underground, complete with many tools and supplies in case of emergency. An accident this far beneath the earth would almost always prove to be fatal, considering there was no paramedic help that could arrive quickly enough. Now, Laura was thankful for the kits and medical paraphernalia she had at her disposal.

She gave the Professor a piercing look, in case he was trying to shy away from her improvised surgeon center, but he wasn't even paying any attention to what she was doing anymore. He was muttering something about the direction they were going instead.

"If we entered through the northern entrance, and descended straight down into the main chamber, then we should be just about at the—_BLOODY HELL_!"

Laura hid a grimace as the needle punctured and reemerged through his skin, quickly zigzagging through muscle and raw skin as the girl found it appropriate. She pulled the moist thread taut, pulling the separated flaps together. Her fingers were slippery from the blood, the needle coated in a shiny red. She tried not to slip; it was dangerously wet, and one wrong move could mean her finger sewn into the sinew.

After applying a final antibacterial salve, she wrapped the wound with an old, thick bandage, praying it wasn't going to infect the area anymore than she already had with her crude means of doctor-play."That'll do for now. I'm sure the doctors will scoff, but it's better than your circulatory system dancing all over the place. Cauterized, yeah, that was what happened." She rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you didn't pass out! There's blood all over your arm!"

"Charming," he muttered, flexing his arm and wincing. "Well, I still must say, I'm impressed. I don't think I could have done that to anybody."

"If I have to do something, I'll do it. I won't back out." She tossed her materials back into her pocket, feeling eyes on her back. She turned around. "What?"

"Oh, it's just…well, it's admittedly not the best moment, but…even down here, in the midst of chaos and darkness, you shine. It's a very attractive energy you give off."

Laura started off down the tunnel, trying to hide her red face in the shadow. "I…don't know what you mean."

"You keep a level head, you know when you're right. That's admirable. And, well, I can't say that I don't find it very enjoyable to be around." He smiled, rubbing his arm subconsciously.

"Uh huh. If that's what you say…"

It felt like hours, but was only ten strained minutes. Laura started grumbling to herself; the echoes and the occasional tinkling of pipes was starting to make her go mad.

"You know, we probably won't be making it out of here, and yet, you still haven't really cleared yourself." She looked over at his somewhat startled expression. It was a bad habit, making people squirm. "What, you didn't realize our oxygen levels down here are already dangerously low as is? Not to mention, this place is going to blow at any second. The gas build up? We smelled smoke and sulfur back up top, and with Edward pushing the drill more. It's either suffocate, get blown up, or squashed. Or maybe all three, if we're _super_ lucky."

"What do you mean by 'cleared yourself'?"

"I meant what I meant. Never mind. The time?"

Layton checked his pocket watch, favoring his arm, still puzzling over her cryptic lingo. "It's been…fifteen minutes since we left that chamber, with the broken gate. I suppose we _are_ on borrowed time."

"Well, it'll be time that we won't be returning, borrowed or not." She grinned, mostly to herself, but she allowed Layton a glance. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You're just going to clam up in your last moments?"

The Professor thought briefly, then sighed in anguish. "I was so worried about us, I had forgotten about the children until just now."

So had Laura. Luke and Flora. Where were they now…? She'd been forced to construct a delicate plan of action within minutes, chased and almost murdered, saved in the nick of time, and led through a compulsory review of ten years' emotional build-up. The boy and girl were furthest from her mind, yet now were all she hoped for. Seeing them again would mean being on the surface, safer than in the confines of the disrupted earth.

"I did too. I suppose when you're fighting for your life, everything else fades away. Makes you feel small, doesn't it? And not in a humble way. Just…gutless, pathetic." Her eyes pooled with tears. "I don't…suppose there's anything they could do now, at this point. I'm sure Edward's already up on top, prancing about, enjoying his fresh air. Stupid, rich prat. I should have known. I really should have."

"You did. That's why we're here." He smiled over at her, affection welling up inside him, despite the circumstances. "Because of you, the world isn't swimming under kilometers of ocean at the moment. It could have been worse. A _lot _worse."

"It's not completely over," she reminded him, laughing bitterly. "Edward still holds the keys. That drill is still running. Let's hope the Queen can swim."

"But you had the sense to disable the other drills," he added, still attempting to compliment her; it was all he could do to manage some positivity. "That move kept the earth safe, at large."

She wouldn't have it. The nagging truth still ate at her. Now, in the silence, louder than ever: she'd built a death machine. She created an apocalypse, single-handedly. With her own talents, the agency of suffering. Her life was epitomized in one small fact, that she allowed people to die, and now she would too.

"You don't understand, Hershel," she whimpered, unable to restrain her tears. Her body began to shake as they walked. "Any way you look at it. It is what it is. I should have wondered, questioned. He never had an outlined plan, Leopold, I mean, Edward. There was never a direct purpose. It was suspicious from the beginning but the only words I heard… 'Hurting your reputation.' I was completely blinded. All I wanted to do…"

In a quick spin and a _whoosh_, Layton stopped her in her tracks, putting both hands on her shoulders, disregarding the pain in his limb. "Laura, you've said enough. I know you would never have intended—"

"I wanted you ruined!" she wailed. The hallway echoed her cries, the wretched howls mimicking a haunting; weeping souls lost in the void. "I..I didn't want you reveling in any glory, any accomplishments! I wanted you shamed. I didn't care if my name was known, fame never mattered, but as long as someone usurped you, like Leopold, Edward…_even_ Edward, I wanted you moved down a peg." She covered her face, her fingers stabbing into her eyes, trying to damper the flow of tears. "I didn't care how, I just wanted it. I wanted you to feel even a fraction of my hurt, it was killing me... If I couldn't have you, I didn't want anyone to. That included sharing in your archaeological discoveries… Oh Hershel, I'm awful, I should have just died in that room back there, crushed by the stupid, _stupid_ ceiling!"

Layton waited. She cried pitifully, small dejected moans wracking her frame. Her face stayed covered the entire time. But he waited. After a minute, she wiped her eyes and stopped, as much as she could; she still sniffed audibly to keep the snot inside her nostrils. Her eyes met his, and she felt calmer somehow. There was no anger. Through the dried tears, she saw forgiveness. In the web of the circuit, the dank tunnels that led to nothing, their map to nowhere. There it was. Mercy. Amnesty. Absolution.

"Do you really think I'd be mad with you?" he asked softly, running fingers through her matted hair. His eyes were lazy, lids like half moons, but he stared straight through her. Normally, she'd have looked away, but it might have been the last time she could get lost in them, such was the thought of her subconscious. She even enjoyed—for once, completely—his trademark smile. "Surprised, perhaps, yes, I'm still surprised; it's not really your character. But angry? Good Heavens, no. It's not an excuse, by any means, but I'd say, after what I did to you… Even then, we're still not quite even."

"What…what do you mean? I tried hurting you. _Purposefully_."

"I mean that I should be the one apologizing to you. But even that…" He growled deeply, a guttural sort of angry noise. Then he laughed, the happiest sound to dance in the halls. "Why does 'sorry' seem to be the hardest word?"

"I know harder ones." With a flash of a grin, she started walking again, breaking from his grip. She didn't want him to embrace her; she sensed it, and knew it would trigger more sobs. "Come on, we're almost to the end."

The silence. Again, it was almost complete, if it weren't for the footsteps bouncing about the hall. It was these that reminded the two that they weren't deaf. Laura cleared her throat.

"Can I tell you something?" She waited for the Professor to turn his head towards her, giving her the signal that she had his attention. "I normally wouldn't admit this to anyone, _anyone_, not even you. But given the circumstances, it won't really matter if anyone knows. It dies here. Literally."

"How do you know we're dying?"

"I just…" She paused.

"What is it, Laurie?"

As if preparing to give a speech, the girl inhaled deeply, shuddering as she released. Her words were warbled, full of pain, but candid all the same. "I never really felt complete, when growing up, especially after Liam died. No one cared about what I _really_ enjoyed, I just…stuck to my hobbies, alone. All I had to do was excel in school, and everyone would leave me alone. But that started changing in college, as I didn't care if I failed, as…you saw in your class." Layton chuckled, to Laura's relief. She needed the levity. Her heart was already brittle. "But…when I met you, there was some sort of…well, when we became friends, I found myself wanting to…" A slow laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head. "This is so stupid, I'm sorry."

"No, no. Continue. I want to hear this." He looked at her intently from the side, hanging on her every word. "I'm interested in this side of you. Go on."

It was too buttery, too rich. Her gut wrenched, the sure response to all of his soft words. His style of speaking was almost an accent all its own, foreign, even though she'd lived in London all her life. No one spoke so smooth. But that was a confession she'd take to the grave.

'_You and your stupid voice and your stupid smile, oh I wish we'd die already…_'

With a grumpy snarl, she ended with a short giggle. "Okay, I admit it. I wanted to impress you. I was…quite enamored with you. Ever since you gave me attention, and you actually talked to me kindly, and gave a damn about…well, about me. I never had…a friend…oh, it was a match made in hell, see where it got us?!"

The hall changed. They entered a section of the tunnel that had more punctuated lighting, single bulbs hanging from short chains at intervals. The intermittent light left hourglass-shaped patches of shadow between each splash of illumination, and they passed through these while blinking, their eyes adjusting slowly. Suddenly, Laura shivered, rivulets of tears cutting streams down her face. The trails shone in the lantern's bright light. Layton looked over, startled at the abrupt change.

"I don't know why it's coming out this way, but I'm grateful," she whimpered, her voice catching between fleeting shots of laughter. "For everything. I might as well tell you now. Thank you for everything, Professor… Hershel. I wish it could have worked out differently. After we, well, after that night, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Ever. Nothing made it better. Even trying to hate you. That anger, that emptiness, do you even know…"

The Professor felt his mind freeze, her emotions were so frightening. She never addressed him with such passion. It was almost eerie. The tears broke in his own eyes. Of course he knew that emptiness. The hollow feeling in his gut, tearing through viscera, eating his sanity, was always present, waiting to haunt. He'd tried to kill it, bury it, cover it up. But it was not a fantasy: it wasn't so easy to forget. The images, the feelings, the smells and the tastes of everything they'd ever done, shared, experienced. It all reappeared in dreams, it floated into his thoughts when alone in his study. Silence was his enemy. All of it was as close as boredom was, so he worked all the more, all the harder to keep it at bay. But the time before sleep is rest, and during rest…

For ten long years. Even then, _you never forget_, he knew.

"Laura, what are you—"

"Hershel, tell me…" Her voice was broken, the saddest, most miserable thing he'd ever heard. Was she pleading, begging? It was too pitiful to listen to, but he was forced by her pathetic gaze to heed her words. "Tell me…is it murderer or martyr, to kill a part of yourself, to let another part live?"

He looked at her in confusion. Puzzles, now? Really? "What…what do you mean?"

She smiled. Amidst that agony, she grinned.

"You know I hate this stuff. But a part of me wants to give in to it. Either way I give in to, I lose."

"So you have to 'murder' the unemotional part of yourself, to let the more expressive part out…so essentially, you're a martyr… Am I getting your meaning?"

"Oh good _Lord_, this is cliché, and you're making it _so_ much worse, Hershel."

"Well, I—I didn't say it! You did!"

"It's your fault, really! I hate myself." She grabbed him by his grubby shirt collar and pulled him down to her level, placing her lips against his firmly. She didn't notice the salt and the sweat. Her mind was fighting itself, and she was thankful his eyes were closed. Otherwise, she'd abandon her confession, too self-conscious. "Mostly, I just hate you. I'm so stupid, I'll never speak to you again!"

Layton's eyes opened slowly, his lips slightly parted. Secretly, he cursed the short connection time. "That little antic of yours just might say otherwise. That might have been the most…stirring expression of self that you've ever shown me, honestly…"

"Well…I—you're just a pushover, aren't you! Men really _are_ all silly creatures! All mesmerized and bowled over with a _stupid_ kiss! Honestly!"

"Well, I…can't quite help it…I just…"

"Let's just keep going, now I'm all embarrassed and I—"

Something exploded, the ear-splitting vibrations rushing along the hallway from behind, like a lion bellowing before the chase. The structure rang and rattled as a gust of air forced itself down the channel right at them, a breath of foreshadowing: the place was imploding in on itself.

Laura's lab coat whipped about her, and Layton had to hold down his hat as dust and air hurried past them like a storm on the rise.

"Hurry," Laura hissed through barred teeth.

"Aren't we going to stop the drill? What's the plan?"

"I'll explain when we get there."

They continued to the end of the hall, where the only working elevator was located. An emergency chute, it was always in guaranteed working order. The only exception might be the circumstantial fact that the place was self-destructing. A single light bulb hung from the lift's ceiling, swaying helplessly, and the shadows danced around the elevator with every pendulum swing. There was no solid door, only a metal accordion, a chain link lattice that locked when shut, much like elevators of old. The thin door would shut, prompting the lift to go in the only direction that it had: up.

And Layton meant to turn around, meant to extend his hand out, meant to grab Laura's. He had every intention of doing so. But he was met with the wind being knocked from his lungs, and he felt the stitching in his shoulder burst as he collided with the back wall of the rickety winch. The lift shook from the force as he fell to the floor, the plated metal cold against his sweaty hands. He might have felt the pain peeling through his arm if it wasn't for the shock of seeing the door cut between him and Laura. It slammed shut with a deafening, metallic, slicing sound as the lock pin slid into place. It was almost comical, the absurdity of staring through the steel lattice, the girl and long hallway beyond cut into little diamonds.

The lift shook, pulleys readying for the ascent. And the force of realization was almost a precursor to heart failure, it took hold of him so strongly. She had slammed herself into him on purpose, sending him full-force into the contraption without her. And with one fell swoop, silenced the matter with a throw of the door.

"L-LAURA! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" He grabbed the metal accordion, shaking the gridded door with every fiber of his being. It thrashed and clanged. He was like a caged bird, dying for freedom, but there was none to be had. "Open the door! FIND A WAY TO OPEN THE DOOR!"

Laura stood smiling, her eyes calm but sad, already missing everything. She was already gone. She looked at him blankly, through all those empty holes in the door.

"I think it's 'murderer'."

"Wha…WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Stop this insanity and open this God-damned door!" He continued by pounding on it, slamming himself into it. It bulged at the threads, but the woven metal held where the pins were wrought. His eyes shone like a wild animal, cornered and caught. "Why would you close it?! Why the _bloody fuck_ would you close it?!"

And she laughed.

"The side of you I've never seen. Fear. I'm interested."

"This isn't funny, it's—" The elevator lurched, the pulleys spinning and whirring excitedly. The thing rose. Slowly, but it rose. "LAURA! It's suicide! This wasn't the plan!"

Her face was blank, but underneath, determination burned. The Professor would have found it attractive, that poise, that stubbornness…but given the circumstances...

"It was _my _plan the entire time. I have to stop it, Hershel. I'm the only person who knows how. But it only takes one person. The mainframe… I can shut it all down permanently. No more games. Edward loses."

"_You could have let me go with you!_" he shouted, rage seething from every pore. Sweat lined his brow, seeping into his hair. "Are you stupid?! You stupid girl! You stupid, _stupid_, idiot girl, you can barely walk, now open the _damned_ door!"

"I didn't want you following me to the grave. You have too much to do. You need to be there for Luke and Flora. And I'm…well, I'm paying my debts."

Another blast rocked the foundations, and another gust of air shot through the tunnel, this time, colder. Laura felt her skin prickle, bumps raising along her arms and legs. The end. It was on her.

And it scared her. She knew what she had to do, but running to the void, to one's death? It was easier said than done. But if anyone had the audacity to stare death in the face and appear disinterested, it was her. If she wasn't crushed to death, the boredom of the whole thing would probably silence her permanently anyway.

Her mind was sound for the time being, and she had to take advantage of that.

Panicking, the Professor had lost all sanity. The door wouldn't budge. The lift was rising. His head was almost out of view, the elevator passing the ceiling of the tunnel. His face was contorted in fury and despair and his eyes were manic, a deer in the headlights. Turning to the side, angry fists slammed into the button panel, trying to find some secret combination to halt the thing. It only bruised his knuckles.

'_Why's there a panel in here anyway?! It has no purpose!_'

He bawled, and it almost made Laura regretful, guilt taunting her conscience. It was a strange sight, the proud yet modest Professor Hershel Layton, brought to his knees, riddled with grief, clawing at the shaky door with desperation without promise of fruition. The ultimate puzzle, and he couldn't solve it. It was probably the last she'd see of him, and it was killing her, knowing that. Maybe he could study her bones later, after the rubble was cleared up, she thought.

'_I think I'm going mad_…' she mused. '_I need to get going…_'

"Laurie, why are you doing this?!" he screamed, his voice dying in the din of the lift and the explosions. It didn't matter, he was going hoarse anyway. His throat was dry, tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth. "You c-c-an't go! I…won't…let…you!" His fingers wrapped around the lattice again, the thin metal cutting beneath his knuckles. Red liquid trickled into the door joints, smearing the silver surface. "Not a second time! Laurie, I love you, this can't happen! Not again!"

"Yes, a second time, again. But, this time, it's my doing."

"No, no, no, no, no." He shook his head violently, trying everything in his power to stop the lift. "No, no, NO." He pushed himself into the wall, hoping to warp the lift's shape, grind it against the shaft. It was his last attempt at a break. "Laurie, reprogram it! Do something! There's got to be another way!"

"Hershel, you are my best friend, and I'm truly sorry." She took a step back, a wavering smile plastered across quivering lips. She wiped her eyes, and cleared her throat. "You were my dream, one I didn't realize I had until it was too late. I'd awoken, and it was just too late. I suppose now is a better time than any. I never really told you, and it doesn't really matter, but…

"I love you!"

The elevator screeched upward, Layton pressed to the floor of the thing, trying to shout sense in the last window of sight before pulling out of view. As soon as it cleared the ceiling, Laura turned on her heels and darted backward into the darkness, the Professor belting out one last blood-curdling scream, hope gone, his mind blank, and the permanence of his loss engraving itself indelibly into his memory.

* * *

**Oops. Review please.**


	45. CHAPTER 45: A PLAN UNRAVELED

**I tried making it more poignant, but…..I'm not so good at it.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 45: A PLAN UNRAVELED**

The last sliver of light edged to a close, and the lift was wholly surrounded by the narrow shaft, cast in darkness. It creeped along, grinding against the track at a terribly sluggish pace, a deafening screech of metal on metal. Dawdling almost with deliberation, the vessel lurched and crunched, until brusquely, without warning, it decided that it was built for better things. It increased performance, picking up speed, forced to the surface like magma under pressure.

The Professor huddled on the ground in a corner of the elevator, knees pulled up to his chest, his fingers digging into his scalp. His eyes darted frantically, bloodshot, but he didn't know; it was pitch black (the single light-bulb had gone out), and there was no mirror. He wouldn't have cared anyway. His body somehow managed to release violent sobs. They were lost in the sound of the speeding machine, but he felt every jolt in his throat, the wails catching, his throat was so dry. He began coughing forcefully after a while, his hacking turning to dry heaves. From within, he felt his stomach clench and flop, invisible bile making him wretch. The top hat had fallen off long before, and lay in its own corner of the floor, forgotten.

He continued for minutes, hours, days it seemed, howling and recovering, crying again and stopping. The pattern continued. All he saw was Laura, smiling at him. It was all he had: the sight before the lift pulled out of the lit world. It was all there would be. The only slight comfort was that he was the last to see her, and she him. But it wasn't really comfort. There was no such thing. Not for this.

He'd lost the world. She wouldn't be out there, living her life, as he'd told himself all those years. '_Somewhere_,' he'd said, '_she's living. Working. Studying something, making someone angry, making someone sad. Maybe she's even making someone fall in love with her._

'_But it won't be what I feel…no one can feel that way about her except for _me.'

But now, it was different. He knew better.

Suddenly he was angry. He cursed her, hated her for what she did. The brat forced him into the stupid, busted, old lift, didn't even allow him a decision. Rusty old box! Where was the democracy? Where was the justice? He justified her death, punishment for her insolence! It was her fault they plunged that far into the earth, they shouldn't have stepped foot into an elevator with the risk of the power blowing. Her fault, her fault, her fault.

But again. He knew better.

Fleeting as the feelings were, one moment upset, another furious and full of rage, he was experiencing a confusion that he'd never known. It was a deep despair, a genuine sense of loss. A vacuum was within him, sucking him dry of all sense. Now he knew what widows and widowers felt like, what parents who lost their children felt like. His best friend, soulmate, and his student. Gone. He felt he'd had a hand in raising her up from a sullen product of grizzled and weary education, into something more worthwhile. More productive. More…Laura.

Gone. Gone.

"G…Gone…she's…"

His eyes widened and his hands shot to his mouth, a futile attempt to keep the stomach acid in. He gagged and vomited something, but the lack of light wouldn't let him see.

He didn't know how long it'd been, but the little lift started to putter, chattering metal teeth grinding as the gears squeaked and scraped against each other. The Professor scrambled to his feet, losing his balance and slamming his knee into the grated side. He cursed loudly, not caring about manners and proper etiquette (no one was around anyway, to hell with it all), and tried again to gain his footing. The elevator shrieked and shuddered.

'_The pulleys…not again, please don't snap, don't lose power, don't fall at all! I need to see Luke, Flora…I need to see them safe!_'

He grasped what he could, the only thing that extruded from the flat walls: the useless button panel. The vibrations were immense, almost knocking him off his feet again, when the lift finally came to a sharp halt. The weakness in the Professor's legs caused him to buckle yet again, this time, causing his face to slam into the harsh metal wall. He winced, feeling his skin split along his cheek bone, but he was grateful that the noise and the grinding had stopped.

He still saw nothing, felt only the slow trickle of warm blood coursing down his face. The shaft still surrounded him. Blinded, his other senses were augmented, his hearing and sense of touch heightened in his inability to see. He kept thinking he was starting to see little glowing specks, but it was his eyes playing tricks. His fingers found the metal accordion door, tracing the diamond-shaped holes in the lattice. He tried to pry it open, feeling for another door. Pneumatic hissing issued from beyond him, and in an instant, light poured into the vessel as a secondary door in the shaft slid to the right, opening to a room. Lifting his arm, the Professor blocked the brightness from his eyes as he adjusted, trying to stare beyond his prison.

And with a small ping, the lift's door loosened, the pin unlocking. Layton's reaction time was stunted, but after a pause, realization struck him, and, snatching up his hat, he pushed himself out of the confines of the box.

Tattered and miserable, Layton emerged, covered in soot, sick, and sweat. It was an extremely narrow room that he stepped into, and then he realized: he was in the top of the corporate tower. He was back where they started. Just outside was the exit!

The door to it all was straight ahead and he almost dove at it. He prayed for the blast of the sun, the sea spray, the circulating air.

The light really wasn't all that bright once his eyes trained themselves. But, as he turned to glance back at the lift, the abyss was complete in the shaft, as was his own personal darkness.

'_She's down there…she's down there alone, she's_—'

The doorknob turned, he walked through the exit. New air squeezed itself into his lungs, and the surface welcomed him with a calm splash of cool, coastal breeze. The world was a foreign place, after the underground circuit. The air wasn't stale, wasn't pumped. It was fresh and natural. The ceiling was still grey, a canopy of dark clouds, but it was a welcome landscape.

"I'm aboveground…I'm…_Luke, Flora_!"

The Professor made a mad dash down the short flight of metal stairs, looking for his Laytonmobile-turned-boat. But then he remembered.

"Luke and…Flora took it…"

'_But…how did Edward escape?_'

He looked around. The oil rig, about fifty yards away, loomed above him; there was a narrow platform connecting the two buildings. Scaling the stairs in two hops, the Professor raced across the bridge and onto the other tower's platform. Within a minute he'd found several emergency boats covered and secured in their davits.

"Bingo."

Flipping off the cover with some difficulty, Layton finally jumped into the boat and released it. It slid down the ropes evenly as the squeaky pulleys turned and turned. As soon as he was in the water, the motor started and he sped off towards the coast, impatient and fidgety. He couldn't lose the others. They were all he had, _all_ he had, where could they be?!

He failed to slow down in time, and as the Professor slammed into the gritty coast he was thrown into the helm. As the wind returned to his lungs, his eyes caught sight of a group of people several meters ahead, frantically speaking in heightened tones. Immediately, he sloppily exited the boat and ambled towards them.

He'd recall it later with more clarity, but the volcanic eruption inside of his skull currently clouded his ability to rationalize choices, browse options, decide on appropriate actions. It was a sensation he'd never felt. At the time, he was beyond feeling anyway, but _this_…

A young bobby had walked away, leaving Edward standing alone and open. White-suited yet with hair tussled, he still looked out of place with his many rings and aloof glaring. His arrogance might have been toned down given the circumstances, but his upturned nose still smelled the stink of the world.

And the Professor snapped. "_YOU_."

The young man was startled, but smirked as the Professor approached him in a rage, fists clenched, his hair disheveled beneath his top hat. They were alone, removed from the crowd that had gathered around the vicinity. The police were rushing around, possibly trying to gain information, trying to clear the area. Reporters had cameras set up on tripods, on vehicles, in hovering helicopters.

None of it mattered. The man in the white suit never moved, a perfect target.

"Ah, Professor! What a wonderful surprise! I was hoping you'd survived," Edward guffawed as he clapped his hands together, the rings on his fingers tinkling against each other. "Did you have fun in the depths, destroying my property? How's your little dove? Ah, or should I say, your little _bitch_?

"I'm going to kill you, I swear it, I'm going to _kill_ you," Layton growled, his irises contracting, pupils pinned on his quarry. He picked up speed, shortening the distance between them. Edward laughed, a high pitched scoff. Even now, he was _still _pompous.

"Are you? How's that arm treating you? You'll do a fine job making minced meat of me, and look so dazzling doing it, in that garb. Maybe you'll get _another_ picture of your stupid fat head and hat in the papers!" But then he started backing up, a worried look in his eyes. His patent-leather shoes picked up the moisture from the grass blades, muddling the shoes' surface as he stepped backward. Suddenly he felt vulnerable. The bobbies weren't about to come back around any time soon, and he'd have to put up with the furious educator sooner rather than later. His mouth was quicker than his brain, much to his chagrin. Perhaps, he thought, that was his only flaw.

"I'm going to kill you!" Layton roared.

"She was only a student, why don't you find someone with a _real_ background?" Edward tried reasoning, hands held outward. "I hear you _did _find that physics researcher, but oh, I forgot about…well… What is it with you and your women, getting blown up?"

"_SHUT UP!_"

"Then again, students _are _easy to get. How'd it feel? I'm sure you screwed her, am I wrong?"

Reason fled. He no longer existed. There was no '_Professor_' or a top hat. There was an evil, and justice. And justice was a mighty sledgehammer about to crash down.

"_You fucking son of a bitch, I'll kill you_!"

He was upon the boy now, and the Professor launched himself at the younger man, taking him down in one quick tackle. Layton's top hat fell from his head and rolled away a couple of meters, landing in the wet grass. Edward attempted to stand, scrambling on top of Layton, who was swinging like a madman, his punches landing against the other's shoulder and once on a cheek. Edward shrieked in pain and kicked Layton in the ribs, knocking the wind from him and making him feel instantly sick. But he reached up, grasping at the villain's suit coat, pulling him back to the earth.

The cold grass smashed against his white suit, staining it in several patches. In moments, Layton had dealt another blow, this time to the side of one of the young man's knees, finishing with a throw to the crook of the joint, in the soft sinew behind the cap. Edward collapsed, clawing to get away. His fearful whining had replaced his sassy retorts, now that he was at the Professor's mercy.

The struggle continued, Layton regaining his strength enough to propel himself up and over his punching bag, straddling a half-bawling Edward, who was trying to shield himself. His whimpering was disgusting, fueling the Professor's genuine anger and resolute hatred all the more. His skin itched with the lust of knuckles against flesh, getting partial satisfaction after each bruising pummel.

"You killed her! You _killed _her!" he shouted between blows, his eyes hot with angry tears. He might have tasted them, were his taste senses quicker to communicate with his brain; all was white with burning rage. The truth of the matter increased the ferocity of the bashing as he grabbed Edward by the collar, the silky material crushing beneath his fingers. The Professor shook him brutally, slamming him over and over into the ground. The business mogul, once on top of the world, now found his head struck against the earth, bouncing back and forth, back and forth on a burning spine, cracking with each thrash. His coat was so stained from the dirt and crushed turf, it would be impossible to regain its original pristine state. A dried, red-brown stain complemented the palette, blood from a bleeding lip plastered on his shoulders and lapels.

He reached up, hands about Layton's neck, trying to clench his throat.

"Get-_off-_me, you-senile-old-man!" he managed to scream, his voice cracking as he bit his tongue, his head continuing to bob up and down. "God _damn_ you, get the hell off! _Somebody help me_!"

"No one's going to be able to help you after I mutilate you beyond recognition, you sick bastard, you set it up and killed her! You planned this all, and had your end in sight—YOU KILLED HER, GOD DAMN IT, I'LL KILL YOU!"

In the commotion, neither realized the gang of police rushing to the scene. A thick set of hands set like a vise to Layton's shoulders, pulling him away from the wailing Edward. Inspector Chelmey forced Layton to his feet, grabbing him roughly by the material of his jacket. It managed to shake the Professor a bit, having the Inspector seething so close to his face. If he were thinking clearly, and the situation weren't so tense, he might have compared him to a rabid dog ready to take his face clean off.

"Have you gone completely _mad_, Layton?!" Chelmey blurted out gruffly, shaking the Professor to sense, or, at least, attempting to. "What in the bloody hell are you _doing_? You're close to dismantling my suspect! Speaking of which, why don't you have cuffs, you nasty little—" The Inspector grabbed Edward by the neck and pulled him closer, slapping a pair of hand cuffs around his wrists.

Professor Layton struggled to get his balance, looking over still at the boy who was now flailing to his feet. "I…I don't—"

"You brought this case to me, what in God's name are you doing running off and getting your own hands in it?" Chelmey shouted.

Layton wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, tasting blood from somewhere; from his burning lip or the gash on his face, he did not know. His breathing was as shallow as his vision, only seeing a need to cause pain to the person who caused his own.

"The bastard tried tearing my head off!" Edward moaned with some effort, more afraid than confident. "He's insane! Jail him!"

"That's because I _wanted_ to tear his head off, the murderer! He killed Laura, and planned on killing millions more if he had his way! I'll tear your whole bloody head off and—"

The rest of his threatening plan was lost in the flurry of bobbies helping keep Layton separated from the quaking, frightened Edward, who might have smirked in his triumph, had he not been sporting a swollen lip and a cracked jaw. The young man let the police shuffle him away to a paramedic as he held his arms around himself, glancing warily behind at Layton and a few struggling officers trying to detain him.

"You need to calm yourself, Layton," Chelmey growled menacingly, none too happy with the turn of events, yet somewhat relieved that the Professor had turned up. "This aggression will help you _none_. Reporters, cockroaches of the media that they are, are everywhere, despite the danger, and the _last_ thing you need is your emotions gracing the front page of the morning newspaper, if we even have a newspaper in the morning…"

"Or a tomorrow morning, Inspector," the Professor snarled, his eyes still flashing towards Edward. "You don't understand, he—"

"Now I don't know what's gone on, but we need to get the facts—"

"I'll give you the facts, Inspector," Layton spat, jabbing a bruised and bloody finger towards the culprit. "He killed her. Laura's down there, shutting this thing down, and the place is collapsing and destroying itself, all because of him! Oh my God…"

He buckled at the knees and collapsed, grief overtaking him yet again. Confused yet sympathetic, Chelmey warned him to keep silent. "Layton, we've already got people down there, searching—"

"You'll find nothing. It's ready to cave in, Inspector, you'd best call back your men and save their own lives. Why would you send them…" He covered his face with his blackened and bloody hands. "Oh, God, Laura," he moaned, choking on tears and guttural sobs.

The Inspector, never happy with the emotional side of his career, stared bleakly at the Professor, incredulous. He didn't think anything could break this man of the highest order of gentlemanly conduct, but here it all was, sniveling and hunched over. Then again, the whole situation was one that had tested them all, for the entire afternoon. Hundreds drowned, thousands missing, and even more displaced with nowhere to go. All because of a tidal wave. All allegedly because of this Edward Chancey.

He waved away a group of his own squadron, telling them to busy the ragtag reporters with something else, when his intercom walkie-talkie crackled, a watery voice vibrating the unit with a loud hum of words. He grabbed it from his belt and steadied it against his ear.

"Calm yourself, Jacobs, you're breaking up, repeat it again! Over," Chelmey huffed, irritated yet excited, craving good news. The alert came through the receiver once more, and the Inspector tore away from the Professor at top speed, rushing toward the coast.

"Get yourself together, Layton, and come along! We've got something."

* * *

As the lift slipped away, Laura turned in a flurry of her coat and strained her legs to carry her quickly, further and further down the hall. Her teacher's screaming was too much, and almost made her override the elevator's programming. But she'd already made her choice: she'd reenter the chamber alone.

Over and over echoes and crashes carried on around her, the underground laboratories and former navigating tunnels imploding and filling in with the surrounding earth. Obsolete drilling chambers and old pressure conduits were reduced to shadows of their former selves, the engineering of years obliterated in a matter of seconds, minutes. A waste, a downright waste, Laura thought as vengeful tears filmed across her eyes. If she lived, she'd ruin her employer, force feed him his own medicine. Used for a grand scheme, she hated herself all the more.

A familiar top hat continued to form in her mind's eye, taunting her to more tears.

Her shoes clopped on the cement floor, the sealant gleaming in the light strip. Her own eerie shadow chased her weakly, a blurry phantom trying to keep up at her side. She'd recognize the door, but whether she could get in or not was a gamble.

"It'd all been a gamble, really," she admitted, choking on a sob. "I never had a sure, confirmed agenda. Only my own selfish ends, that's all I believed in."

'_How could I have been so blind…?_

'_It's my punishment…It's not only Edward's plan…it was mine._

'_And for what?_

'_It's all undone…everything. And I'll be lost here. Alone._

'_Unknown by most._

'_Hated by everyone else._

'_Despised._

'_Unloved._

'_And I deserve it._

'_That's what hurts the worse… It's one thing to accept consequences, but the fact that I've done something so vile, to deserve this.'_

"_Do you really think I'd be mad with you_?" rang out the Professor's words that had been troubling her.

"Yes…" She sniffed bitterly. "Like how I was mad at you…"

She almost missed it, although it was a monolith of an entrance. On her right, the door was set into the wall, three times her height. Two giant metal plates met in the middle, jagged teeth fit together seamlessly like a zipper. There were many doors like that, she was tired of them.

Laura was too busy with her thoughts that she didn't even notice the wailing alarm in the room within. It blared and ground into her ears like a drill, each blast a reminder of her surroundings. A siren signaling the end, counting down the minutes, the seconds.

To the door's left was a small key pad, lit up by pale blue keys. She punched the code into the soft rubber buttons, waiting, praying for the panels to slide into the walls. They creaked and groaned, and finally, they were open.

The chamber was in shambles, but the mega-drill still sat heavily in the center, encased by its protective, metal sheath. The plates smoldered orange each time the warning light glowed bright, simultaneous with the ringing horn that rocked the room, vibrating the ground and every metallic material in the place that would absorb the shocks. The air was thin, oxygen levels dangerously low.

Racing inside, she started working up the staircase. Her hands met with the rails, cold, hollow tubes that she used as a means to hoist herself up the steps, propelling herself forward. Her legs were pulsating with deep sinewy pain, cutting through her muscles like kitchen shears to a beef steak. Clambering up the thing was the equivalent of mountain climbing, given the state she was in.

And there was her prize: a single, sad computer. As trivial looking as it was, it was the only one with the very thing she needed. Her fingers floated over the keys, above a large blood-red button.

"Only one person knows how to shut it down indefinitely," she whispered to herself. "There's no turning back; it's permanent unless I give the word. I could have shut this place down anytime. I suppose…it's a little late, but…"

'_At least the drill will stop. It will end, and hopefully no more tragedy will occur…no more earthquakes and tidal waves._

'_No more deaths_.'

She stared at the screen, and suddenly her mind went blank. She wretched, holding her mouth. She cradled her stomach, then turned around and released. Vomiting over the edge, she hacked and cried, spit and cursed. Gripping the railing, she screamed.

"_I DON'T WANT TO DIE! I DON'T! I'M GOING TO DIE AND IT'S OVER!_" Her words mixed with the siren and blaring cacophony around her, a symphony of sadness and groveling tears. "_Please, please I don't want to die! I can't, I can't! I don't WANT to!_"

The mantra repeated as she turned back to the computer. She logged in, and her employee image showed up on the screen. The picture floated as she looked at it through watery eyes. Bypassing the screen, she input the final program: a final emergency shutdown.

The confirmation glowed, a bright red font: _Yes/No_.

'_Yes_.'

"_Are you sure_?" She read it over and over and over.

"Y…Yes…"

Something exploded in the room. Her faculties left completely, and she felt her bladder release. Her hands shook. Her eyes failed. Her mind blackened as she exhaled, deeply and completely.

She pushed the key and sat down on the cold floor.

'_I end here. There is nowhere else to go. Why can't I accept it? I just peed myself. I'm at an all-time low. I have no one. There is no one. No one is here. No one is here._

'_My last breaths. I feel them. Death comes. I hope I stop breathing before I am smashed._

'_I really failed. Everything. Everything is over, and I failed. I chose wrong. I'm sorry_.'

She cried more, and laid down on her side, holding her arms to her chest.

"Please forgive me, everyone," she moaned, ending in a whisper. "Please forgive me…"

Voices swam in her mind, images were distorted. People played and studied, old memories floating and dissipating before she could figure out what they were. And with the deafening wail of the siren, darkness flooded everything, and she felt supernatural arms raising her up.

* * *

**Oops, I did it again! Review?**


	46. CHAPTER 46: THE QUIET VOICE OF TRUTH

**I LIVE!**

**This chapter is short. Probably the shortest I've ever written. Welcome back.**

**Trying to resurrect,**

**Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 46 : THE QUIET VOICE OF TRUTH **

_Gray haze. White light. It burned. She shut her eyes tight. Wherever she was, it felt foreign, smelled sterile. It wasn't familiar in the slightest._

_A low, repetitive beep continued to sound as hushed voices mumbled from across the room. They seemed to echo, and then they fell to a lower volume, hitting the floor._

_She opened her eyes again, determined to figure out where she was. Under her fingers she felt stiff cotton sheets. Her nails pierced it slightly, and it sprang back: a bed. Yes, she was lying down. Her vision was watery, but it began to focus. A tall pole stood next to the bed. A tube connected to a clear bag of liquid hung from the pole and ran out of sight. An IV._

_This was a room in a hospital._

_She could barely make out human forms on the far side of the room. A tall man in white, a woman with dark hair. They muttered in harsh tones, then in inaudible whispers._

_And then the pain came. Searing, raw pain. Knees to thighs, chest to shoulders. It creeped from her head into her eyes, and everything seemed to want to explode. Any minute now, she expected her soul to burst, but not before_—

Laura screamed. She shot up from a dead sleep and screamed with one bellowed note. The outburst echoed around the room and came back to her like an angry boomerang, but nothing else came of it. No result.

No one responded. Nothing moved.

The room was dark, save for the light from the window. Moonlight swam in through a feeble curtain. It was enough for her to realize her surroundings, even minimally.

Just as it was in her fitful slumber, she was truly in a hospital, and the contraptions connected to her body confirmed it. The numbed sting of an IV needle in the back of her hand; the breathing mask over her nose and mouth; the mute yet actively glowing and blinking buttons on the machine next to the bed…what was all of this _stuff_?

Slowly, the door creaked open, and a person stood in the entrance. The light from the hall was too painful to look at, much less willing to allow Laura to see who was bothering her space. It outlined the person's frame briefly before the door shut, and the room was blanketed in midnight again.

Light headed, the girl slumped back against the mountain of pillows as the person approached. Whoever it was would have to wait; suddenly Laura's eyes swam in a fit of pain and nausea.

"Wh…who is…," she attempted to mumble.

"Shh, you're too loud," the calm voice admonished gently. It was familiar, the tone, yet still so faraway…

Laura blinked slowly, breathing from the mask with deep, labored breaths. The man (she assumed, as the voice was masculine) pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed.

"So you finally woke up," he spoke softly.

"How…how long…"

"You've been out for almost nine days." He paused. "You weren't supposed to live."

Suddenly she knew the voice. "H…Hershel…"

Professor Layton chuckled. "Took you long enough. I suppose even the smartest brains can be taken down just like the rest of us."

Laura wasn't even listening. Her mind was folding in and out, eager to function, but too willing to fall into sleep.

"Mmgh," was all she said.

'_So you lived…and I'm living too…'_ she thought to herself, tumbling into a swirl of unconscious twilight. '_The world is all right…_

'…_The world is all right…_'

Then she passed out.

END.

* * *

**Next chapter is long. And it's the 2nd to last one. YEY. Don't forget to review. I'm tired of a bunch of readers and no reviews.**


	47. CHAPTER 47: GEIST

**Hello, little creatures. Here is a chapter to whet your appetite.**

**I apologize for the lack of updates. I have a busy life. And this chapter is disheveled so I apologize...**

**Deriding your pet ferret,  
Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 47: GEIST**

Within a day, the entire world population (at least those within five feet of a television, computer, or cell phone screen) had learned two names, names that might have gone unnoticed had they been of someone who, say, flipped burgers or bagged groceries, or babysat unruly children (or even well-behaved ones!). But not even apocalyptic floods could sway the masses from wanting to know: _Why had Edward Chancey II and Laura Haris tried to drown the world?_

Staring at the wall clock, Professor Layton sipped grimly from his tea cup. Too much time had passed and the liquid had lost its warmth (yet had lost its flavor long before that, if it ever existed). Clock hands had never been more infuriating than they were presently.

'_Two hours…_'

Luke peered into the sitting room, knowing what he'd find. The Professor had made the room his base, his control center. He hardly ever retired to his sleeping area or to the little room where they ate meals (if you could call them that; the food any of them prepared was barely edible, and much less palatable or visually appealing). The man in the top hat simply sat in the musty recliner and mused, contemplated, and muttered things under his breath. The young apprentice found the man as of late to be more of a bitter old codger than the calm and wise professor he once knew.

"Professor…" the boy whispered, pointlessly. The man had hardly responded to him for the past week, why would he be conversational now? "Do you think—"

"I'm forbidden to vouch for her, so I refuse to attend." His lips almost didn't move, as if he were practicing a ventriloquist stunt. Another sip ('_Bland,_' he mentally spat) and he removed the hat. "I've explained this before, Luke."

"But someone has to support her! Laura, she—"

"She will be fine…"

"How will she be?!" Luke sputtered, anger rising. His face flushed carnation. "You said yourself it's beyond hope and that she'll be sentenced in some way! She at least would want her friends around!"

Layton ran his fingers through his mussed up hair. "Did I say that…? And no, frankly, I don't think she would like an audience like that."

Frustration peaking, Luke's face looked like a puffed up strawberry. "So you're letting her drag through the trial on her own. What kind of a gentleman is _that_?"

Luke's words were draining, and the living room somehow felt emptier than it already was. '_Well…that is the truth, I suppose…_' the Professor sighed to himself. '_But what else should I do… And this place is not helping my mood any…_'

They'd been living in makeshift apartment housing for weeks, the flood having stolen life as anyone knew it prior to the tsunami ravaging much of Britain. What started as living out of cramped tents slowly merged into sharing slapped together "living stadiums", large covered pavilions that at least had thin walls and doors for privacy. The government, paired with emergency aid from other nations, eventually pieced together sloppy ghetto-like apartment complexes—weary shadows of the city's former living quarters—until development had a chance to boom and attempt to replace the city's buildings. Not _all_ was destroyed, but most residential areas required heavy renovation, or at least a lot of manpower to help clear debris from property (not to mention the cleaning of moldy floors and salt-painted walls before any place was sanitary enough to reside).

So the room where the Professor now sat (apart from his assistant's vitriol beginning to boil over) was disgustingly empty.

"What kind of a gentleman is _that_?" he had heard the boy fume.

And then Luke stormed off.

* * *

As soon as Laura had woken in the hospital, media cockroaches swarmed the location in (futile) hopes of addressing Britain's current plight. Doctors instead had to act as a sacrificial defense, as they several times—even _bodily_—had to ward off the press in order to secure the girl's health and well being. Laura, of course, was too weak to handle anything on her own, and was at the mercy of everyone to remain in one living, breathing piece.

Now, months into the investigation of Petrolite and its true agenda, and mere hours away from a shoddy trial, Laura sat in an annex to a banged up courtroom (dilapidation courtesy of the flood). She sported a bright orange prison suit and a tight set of hand cuffs that indented her wrists. A surly guard stood just outside of the washed out wooden door. Swirled salt had left several thick marks on the door and walls and Laura had outlined every single one with her roving eyes. Of course, it wasn't taking her mind off of things as she had hoped.

The whole investigative process was conducted without any of the usual, proper protocol, as it wasn't often that someone had made the world his (or her) target for revenge. Was there any sort of rule set that any one nation was to follow for the prosecution of a terrorist whose enemy was the _entire_ world? Edward and Laura both were immediately taken into police custody after the slightest accusation had arisen concerning their involvement in the world's annihilation. The police weren't taking any chances. Questions were asked later; innocence would be proven _much_ later.

With their guilt preceding them, Edward and Laura had been locked up and separately interrogated by police, world leaders, anyone who could potentially have a say in their just punishment. But Laura didn't know anything that Edward had done or said after he had left the drill. The last thing she'd heard from him was his crackled voice from the loudspeaker down in the drill chamber's break room. He could be running around free for all _she_ knew, having fully placed the blame on her. Perhaps his money and smooth talking still worked, even though all the facts would have to be put in the light at _some_ point…

She sighed heavily. The soft tinkle of the cuffs' chain was a welcome sound to break the deafening silence. Her mind had been a hurricane of emotion, memory, and projections for the future, and any distraction was a good thing.

It was all grim. It was all heavy. It was all blasphemous and rotten and depressing. Her only contact with human beings had been with authority figures demanding answers, and they didn't like hers. No welcoming faces, no kind words. She'd already been judged and sentenced, _before_ her trial. So what was the point of drawing it out any longer?

'_Just lock me away already, and get it over with,_' she cried silently.

She vaguely remembered waking to a dark hospital room and watching a blurry Professor Layton mumbling some things, and that served as a happy point during all of the cacophony…but… Reality and dreams were slowly becoming a slurred mess.

'_Was that a dream…_?' Then there was a sudden rap on the door. '_Is this a dream? Oh dear, I think I've started inventing more favorable alternate realities…_'

"Laura Haris." A statement, and a petulant one at that. "You're one lucky girl. Trial is starting on time."

Void of emotion, the bailiff led Laura out of the room, the girl attempting a taut grimace as a last effort to protect the little pride she had left.

* * *

The Wurstplatz Center of Law at Gressenheller University formerly stood proud and tall, its ivy covered walls and Gothic arches sighing with antiquity. Now the ivy was missing (although a few strangled braids hung miserably from the highest points) and the arches were covered in a salty film. It was a sad shadow of itself, but it would soon serve as the platform for the trial of the century, as recent events would have it. Inside was an actual courtroom, not merely used for mock trials for young lawyers in training, but for actual civic and criminal trials. It was decided unanimously by figures of authority that the old courtroom would serve as the setting for the trials of Edward Chancey and Laura Haris. However, it wasn't as if there were many choices as to the '_where_' of the judgments. Proper housing for a trial wasn't exactly easy to come by…

Inside the room with vaulted ceiling were several long, dark, wooden pews. It had the sacred heaviness of a church. The seats were already filled, and dozens of people stood along the room's sides, in the back, and out the door, hoping to squeeze inside in the off chance that someone else would became bored and leave.

A man at the end of a pew scratched his bristled chin, smoothed out his burgundy suit pants, then returned to his chin.

"I would imagine this trial won't reveal the whole story, eh, boy?" he said in a low voice. To the man's right sat a golden haired boy with a round, pixie-like face. He gazed around the room, up to the ceiling, along the flying buttresses, and back down to his fingers tapping the seat.

"Uh, I suppose not," the child sighed. His voice was more mature than his face gave him credit for. "But the balance… The balance is off."

One stern look from the man and the child ceased his whining. "Hush. Time and space are my playing cards. I might not appear to be winning, _but…_"

The boy turned away from the man's twisted smile and looked on towards the judge's chair up on the elevated bench. "Hmm, yes. Classic poker face."

Then, amidst a flurry of hissing and smothered whispering, Edward Chancey, shackled and sloppy, was led into the room and to a small table next to the bench. Many in the crowd began to chatter, which only intensified when Laura Haris was brought in right behind her former employer. She was sat down at a table directly across from Edward, and tried to divert her attention to anything, anyone, any_where_ to avoid his smug gaze.

'_We're being tried together…? Is this even a legitimate trial?_' she wondered, and her heart sank suddenly.

At that moment, the two main entrance doors slammed open and a man of great height (and girth) marched straight to the judge's seat and stood in front of it. The talk died down slightly, then ceased immediately after the giant of a man scanned the congregation briefly like an overgrown owl, grunted, pulled out a gavel, and slammed it against the sounding block.

"I will make it clear _now_ that there will be _complete order_ as I preside over this mockery of a _trial_," he boomed, his beard hairs bristling, "and it will proceed as I _personally_ see fit. Any outbursts, oppositions, insults, and general tomfoolery will be _promptly_ handled with appropriate force, and without warning. Do I make myself clear?"

No one moved. The statement was perfectly clear.

So was the verdict. Laura simply stared at a corner of the table, tears forming in her eyes as she felt her throat clench, justice's hold on her life gripping even tighter.

* * *

The keys jangled, then fell silent. He walked quickly, then paced. To and fro, to and fro.

Jingle jangle. Silence. Repeat. Perhaps a sigh, perhaps a grunt.

"What do I _do_?"

Layton sat down heavily in the otherwise quiet apartment, his car keys giving one final chime from within his trousers' pocket. Removing his hat, he stared at his most prized accessory as he turned it slowly in his hands. Its giver was most likely getting chewed up in court.

"Why is this so difficult to get over?" he grumbled miserably.

He had lost more than he liked to admit on the day they demolished Edward's plans. Although he had "regained" Laura (as he initially believed her to be dead, after she shoved him in the elevator to ascend alone), he still had lost parts of himself. His composure, his gentle conduct, his control… The way he had murderously manhandled Edward before the police intervened startled him greatly; the boiling surge of retribution was cause for alarm. Not only was it foreign, but it demonstrated a lack of control that he vowed to never lose…

He felt before that he was fighting a battle, albeit losing. Currently, any semblance of winning was most _definitely_ slipping through his fingers.

Now, when Laura was finally being tried for her deeds, everything was coursing back into his mind. Their relationship, her choices during those ten years, the reasoning at the heart of those choices, all that he had done to forget…

Whether she was really responsible for any of the dastardly deeds was not the issue for him. He knew she had physically done things that placed her in the law's clutches. But for _him,_ it was more about "_How culpable is she, really_?"

Sighing, he walked to Luke's bedroom. The boy had an uncanny ability to make him feel calm, and perhaps talking with him would help clear his mind…

'_The blind faith and innocence of a child…is a remedy oft ignored…_' he mused.

He knocked. "Luke? Luke, I'm sorry I upset you earlier… Can I come in?"

There was no sound.

'_He must have fallen asleep…_'

He entered, but after a thorough search of the place, it was obvious the boy had left the apartment through the window. It wasn't difficult, given the fact the windows were shoddily constructed, and they were on the first floor… Luke had simply undone the primitive lock and tumbled out. The window was still open, and the breeze was a welcome feeling against the Professor's warm face.

But he couldn't be angry for long. After all, it was easy for the boy to make the correct decision. And it was even easier now for the Professor to see his own error.

"Ah, my boy, how us adults get caught up in the tiniest, most trivial emotions…"

With lightning speed he started up the car and barreled out of the drive. It wasn't long before he realized the road circuit was still terribly cluttered and debris-logged. In an empty parking lot of what used to be a super market, he abandoned the Laytonmobile and took off on foot. After a few blocks, he remembered that his sloth had rendered him completely useless for any physical tasks, and he stopped a moment to catch his breath.

"Professor?"

It was Luke who had spoken, a meekly smiling Flora standing beside him. Professor Layton smiled through his heavy breathing.

"You two! …I thought you'd already arrived…"

"We left a while ago, but…it's farther than we thought," Luke explained shyly. Flora simply nodded. "Are you…going to make us go back?"

"No." He reached out and hugged them both. "We're off to do what we should have done in the first place."

"You mean…?"

He led the way without another word, knowing the route like the back of his hat. It was a path he'd often walked in his many years at the University. The building they now approached was usually a beautiful one. It wasn't the same now, but… the law school was still the law school. And its exterior didn't matter a damn.

They ascended the stone steps quickly, the children now huffing after their mentor. And without any cue, Layton grasped the bronze door handles with determined hands and pulled with a force that surprised even him. The doors slammed into the walls with the sound of a thunder crack.

"I apologize for my truancy," he stated loudly, his voice clearly echoing around the vast chamber, "but I believe I could be of service to one of the accused…"

'_For that's what a gentleman does…_' came the words of assurance.

* * *

**END.**


End file.
